


Luna Contritum: Grant Us Eyes

by Xan Lazy Eldritch Writer (xanothos)



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Eldritch, Hope vs. Despair, Other, Transhumanism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-05-09 15:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanothos/pseuds/Xan%20Lazy%20Eldritch%20Writer
Summary: Humanity. A nebulous concept, is it not? In spite of its ill-defined nature, some cling to it like a babe to its mother, while others seek to cast it aside for power, progress, ascendance. But is the power gained by progressing beyond humanity worth the price?As the old adage goes: You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.





	1. Chapter 1

Luna Contritum: Grant Us Eyes

 

Prologue: Apotheosis

-x-x-x-

_Today I died._

_I came to this city, desperate for a cure to this maddening blight. To Yharnam, home of the famed Blood Ministration._

_After the procedure, I woke up in a sickroom, empty beds and scattered medical equipment surrounding me._

_Almost as soon as I got up, I was assaulted by...some sort of_ **_beast_ ** _. Naturally, woozy and unarmed as I was, I was naught but the juiciest of prey._

_The blood…_

_The agony of having my entrails torn from me and eaten before my eyes…_

_I fear that once the shock fades I will be useless._

_After I died, I woke in a garden._

_These little...creatures gave me some sort of sword-cane and a pistol, along with this very book._

_I’m taking the time to organize my thoughts here so I can—_

The rest of the page devolves into illegible scribbles and tear stains.

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I

Circa 0 M.F.

(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

In a garden of glowing white tulips, under a moon the bright crimson of freshly shed blood, a battle came to a close.

Cadfan’s chest heaved as the gleaming silver, rune-etched blade of his scythe, the vestige of his mentor’s last lesson to him, tore through the torso of the creature before him. Flora, the Moon Presence, let out a mournful cry, reaching out to Cadfan almost plaintively as she fell to her spindly knees on the bloodstained hillock. The thin tendrils upon the Great One’s head drooped and shriveled as Flora, of the Moon in Dream, breathed her last breaths. Sorrow in his eyes, the Hunter took the hand of the rapidly fading creature. _‘She did not want this. All she wanted was a child of her own…’_

In spite of the fact that she was a creature entirely alien to him, Cadfan wept for her.

He mourned the fact that the minds of man and the minds of the Cosmos were so far apart; he mourned the deaths of Flora, Eibritas, and the newborn Orphan of Kos which had been the only way for man to escape the Nightmare.

But most of all, he mourned for his lost innocence, the coin he’d paid for his surviving the wasting sickness that he’d been born with. His parents had believed it would consign him to an early grave, and so when he’d shown the aptitude for scholarly work, they’d leapt at the opportunity, driving him down the path of the book and pen with all the fervor of people possessed. It was only once the disease had progressed far enough that he couldn’t leave his bed that his parents grew desperate enough to send him to Yharnam, by carriage.

The rest, as they say, was history. It had taken him countless deaths, but he’d finally done it. The Nightmare was over, fading and leaving behind only the bitter hollowness in his chest.

…

A hollowness that was growing, writhing within him, swallowing him from the inside. The Good Hunter clutched his chest and sank to his knees. “Is this...the price...of my hubris? My selfishness?” he rasped, clutching the haft of the scythe passed to him by his mentor and—dare he say it?— _friend._

The familiar sound of ceramic feet on a cobblestone path shook the Hunter from his mourning. Cadfan looked up through the silver mists that his body was giving off as parts of his flesh simply... _ceased_. The Plain Doll, created in the likeness of one of Gherman’s disciples, the Lady Maria, knelt before Cadfan and took his hand in hers.

“Good Hunter,” she murmured, “you’ve won. Flora has gone from this plane, and the Dream ends at long last.”

“...Cadfan,” he grunted. “My name is Cadfan. I apologize for not telling you before...some of the stories I’ve read implied that names have power.”

The Plain Doll raised a hand to his cheek and cupped it. “I forgive you, Good Hu—no, _Cadfan_. Your fears may have been well founded. The Dream may well give power to names; I know not, as I am but a Doll.”

By this time, Cadfan’s lower body had vanished completely, and the encroaching void was now creeping up his torso. As his mortal form dissolved, he felt no agony. Instead, all he could feel was a distant, quiet sense of rapture and inevitability.

Knowing his time was short, he spoke in a quick, quiet rasp. “I haven’t treated you as well as I should have, and for that I am sorry. I don’t know what is to become of me, but allow me to give you a parting gift, should this be the last time we speak.”

His calloused hand gripped her thin, ceramic digits. “You’ll be ‘Doll’ no longer. My gift to you...a name, should you choose to accept it. _Isolde_. In my country, it means ‘fair one’.”

Her hands squeezed his with deceptive strength, the next words coming from her mouth unsteady and thick with emotion. “Oh...Good Hunter, Cadfan...this gift; I cannot thank you enough for it.”

Isolde pulled Cadfan into a tight embrace. The Hunter closed his eyes and returned the embrace, his last moments as a human spent in the arms of a true friend and companion. _Not_ a Doll.

Isolde’s eyes snapped open in shock, as the mist that Cadfan had dissolved into began to swirl and coalesce into a small shape. After a minute or two, the mist had settled into a definite form: a small, fleshy creature about the length of an arm, tiny tendrils of dull grey chitin waving lazily at the end of its body. “Oh, dearest Cadfan…” breathed the woman who’d once been a Doll, “you have achieved what even the scholars of Byrgenwerth and Mensis could only dream at…”

The little creature wriggled in what seemed to be satisfaction, then shivered. Isolde clutched it closer to her body. “Are you cold? Let me take you to the Workshop; the fire’s burned out by now, and it still stands.”

A faint sense of agreement not her own passed through her mind.

“Oh, dear Hunter...I wonder what the day holds for—hmm?” A rumbling from above them cut Isolde’s words off. She turned her face to the sky, and gasped. A feeling of concern and questioning was pressed against her psyche as she turned and ran towards the series of seven graves lining the far fence.

The diminutive forms of the Messengers moved two and fro at a rapid pace, gathering all manner of items from around the workshop and piling them unceremoniously before the furthest gravestone. Every rumble and crack from far above seemed to spur the little ones on as they frantically dipped in and out of reality through tiny, misty cracks in space-time to gather everything they could.

Finally, Isolde had to speak up. “There’s no more time, little ones. We must flee, to the depths.” One of the Messengers darted forward and placed a large chalice on the grave, before dumping several reagents into it and withdrawing. Isolde touched the chalice to the smooth skin of the infant Great One that had once been Cadfan the Good Hunter, and all was light.

…

Moments later, a chunk of rock roughly the size of the college at Byrgenwerth slammed into the garden, obliterating everything within a half mile, both within the fading Dream and in the Waking World.

This was only the first ‘tear’ shed by Luna, mourning the death of her child.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Many, many years later…

-x-x-x-

Deep within the wooded wilderness of the Emerald Forest, a scar of brown and grey split the sea of green. A small earthquake had occurred recently and a fissure had opened in the earth, revealing unfamiliar and undocumented ruins. Even now, someone was plumbing the murky depths of the ancient complex in hopes of finding something of note.

“This is _fascinating!”_ a thin man said rapidly, darting hither and thither with such violent vigor that it was a wonder that his cap and glasses remained on his green-haired head. “The stone that made these corridors, I’ve never seen the like!”

The man frantically waved a flashlight at the walls, taking in the sight of several carvings a second with a keenly trained eye. “And the markings...they seem to tell a story about the world before Moonfall! This may well be the discovery of the century—nay, the millennium!”

_“If these ruins truly predate the Moonfall, you are absolutely correct, Bartholomew,”_ a calm voice replied from the speaker set in the arm of his spectacles, its tone turning amused as it continued, _“However, if it’s not too much trouble, could you perhaps continue on? At this rate of exploration, the next batch of freshmen won’t have a history class until they’re seniors.”_

Dr. Bartholomew Oobleck had the decency to blush at that. “Sorry, sorry! You know how I get, Headmaster. Something like this? It’s a dream come true!”

_“Indeed.”_

The slender, spastic Doctor proceeded onwards, his eyes straying longingly to the petroglyphs on either side of him as he passed them by.

The walls were a murky green, and interspersed with the markings were strange symbols, perhaps letters telling a story? Oobleck shook his head. With any luck, there’d be time to explore these ruins further at a later date. For now, he continued on through the labyrinthine maze of stone, dust, and occasional puddles of a strange viscous liquid.

He avoided those.

After about thirty minutes of twists and turns, each of which he left a small, luminescent sticker on so he could find his way back, he reached a door of wood and metal, dimly glowing symbols etched into the frame. He clicked off his flashlight and hooked it to his belt so he could get a better look at the mysterious etchings, then shuddered. An ominous weight had rested itself on his shoulders, like the eyes of some vast, titanic consciousness had fixed themselves on him and him alone.

“Headmaster Ozpin….something about this area feels...wrong. I don’t know what, but this...this place isn’t right.”

There was a faint _beep_ from the other end of the connection, alerting both men that the Headmaster had just received the data transfer containing pictures Oobleck had taken during his descent. In particular, pictures of the petroglyphs and other carvings.

It was barely a moment later that Ozpin’s voice once more came across the link, this time with no amusement and much more command. _“Bartholomew, return to the surface. Those symbols...they’re familiar, and_ **_not_ ** _from recent memories.”_

Oobleck made to respond, but all that came from his mouth was a choked gasp as a massive, pale hand with thin, spidery digits erupted from the darkness behind him, wrapped around his torso and dragged him away.

His glasses clattered to the ground behind him, Professor Ozpin’s voice sounding increasingly loudly in the corridor but fading from the ear as the distance increased.

Oobleck struggled against the massive, sinuous hand clutching him to the chest of an equally gargantuan... _creature_ , but to no avail.

He’d been able to get a good look at the thing that had grabbed him once it had pulled him close; web-thin tendrils had sprouted from the giant’s head and were now emitting a soft blue glow, illuminating the immediate area.

Even though it’s limbs appeared to be little more than mottled greyish silver skin stretched taut over thin bone, the being was deceptively strong; Oobleck relied on his wits and his weapons, not his strength. Whatever this strange, new existence was, it hadn’t tried to kill him like a Grimm would have, but to capture him. That suggested intelligence, and the doctor always respected intellect.   
  
However, he knew well that intelligence turned to darker paths could lead to the discovery of abominable acts, tortures and agonies painful beyond measure.   
  
He waited, noting that his mysterious captor was taking special care to grasp him just tightly enough to restrict his movements. For a man in his admittedly terrifying position, Oobleck was remarkably calm, confidence drawn in no small part from the fact that his weapon was still hooked onto his belt, a measure of protection in the event this venture turned…violent.   
  
But it didn’t. The lanky, faceless giant took him to a room lit with more of those glowing runes, several tables strewn about the area and messily piled with books and papers alike.   
  
The most striking part of the room, however, was the life-sized Doll that sat at a writing desk, a quill pen gripped in its thin ceramic fingers and raised above a notebook. A shawl woven of brown cloth hung from the Doll’s shoulders, terminating halfway down its ankle length dress. A brown bonnet partially obscured a meticulously maintained mane of white hair, and a pink scarf dangled over the brown leather corset that was just visible beneath the shawl.   
  
To Oobleck’s shock, the Doll’s head turned towards him smoothly, and regarded him before blinking ponderously.   
  
She set her quill down, rose from her chair, and smoothed the front of her dress before walking over to where he was cradled to a massive, emaciated chest by an equally large, equally spindly hand.   
  
“Hello,” she said, her ceramic lips somehow moving as though they were flesh when she spoke. “The Lattice was not expecting trespassers into His sanctum so soon. My name is Isolde, caretaker of this place. We have things to discuss, dear visitor.”

**AN: Well. Here we are. This is my first serious attempt at a non-SI fic in a while, and this promises to be quite the undertaking. I've received an incredible amount of support and encouragement from various people, to say nothing of the aid that Teninshigen, Magery, and my new friend Slavok have offered. So to you three, (as well as TheLonelyWillow for heaping encouragement and motivation onto me), I extend my most heartfelt thanks. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.**


	2. Chapter 1: Communion

Chapter 1: Communion

_I am beginning to think that I am further out of my depth than I initially believed, and that takes some doing._

_After I accepted the weapons from those little beings (and recovered from my breakdown), I was whisked away, right back into the same clinic where I'd—_

The next few lines are illegible, as the handwriting of the author seems to have become extremely jagged and shaky. The author appears to have managed to steady his hand sufficiently after several lines of panicked scribbles.

— _and I saw what had become of the people of Yharnam. Their flesh twisted and mutated, their minds only on one thing: feeding their addiction to blood._

The author rambles for several more pages about the mutants he'd encountered and their savage strength.

_I died six times before I figured out how to work the sword-cane properly, and thirty-seven more before I reached_ _**it** _ _. I don't know what to call it, but that_ _**monster** _ _...it tore me to pieces with nary a thought._

_And when I woke in the garden once more?_

_The Doll that had been laying abandoned in a corner_ _**spoke to me.** _

_I didn't scream as loud when I was—_

Here the writing cuts off abruptly, a blotch of ink covering the majority of the adjacent page. Judging by later entries, the author suffered a panic attack reliving his especially gruesome 'death.'

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I

Circa 0 M.F.

(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

A man stood in a tower, clad in a suit of deep forest green and shaking with barely-leashed concern and frustration. The rhythmic ticking of the massive gears hanging from the ceiling failed to ease his temper, so intense was his stress.

Ozpin stared through his spectacles at the screen of his Scroll with gritted teeth, the metal straining in the headmaster's white-knuckled grip. It still showed the runes of another time, runes that Oobleck could not have hoped to have recognized. The carvings weren't just ancient, they were  _alien_ , and came from a time that did not reward the curious.

Even  _he_ , cursed though he was, was too young to have experienced those times firsthand, but stories had been passed down from a time before the Grimm, a time before the Moonfall. Legends he'd viciously suppressed over the ages, to protect the world from the blunderings of curious fools and the machinations of powermad tyrants alike.

Legends about blood and madness, about horrors from beyond the stars, and the fools that had treated with them and paid a price of flesh and mind and soul.

He'd hoped against hope that those carvings were one of the legends that were nothing more than that, but in the back of his mind he'd always known that he couldn't  _possibly_  be that lucky.

And now, if those ruins were open, unburied with all the horrors of the past … well, there were worse things than Grimm in the world. Things that even  _she_  would blanch at consorting with.

Ozpin sighed, pulling off his glasses and sinking into a chair covered in small gears, mirroring the aesthetic of the clockwork room.

It was times like these, Ozpin mused, that he wished Qrow was more readily available, both so he could have his trusted right hand at his side, and because the perpetually pickled man would know just the vintage to take the edge off his stress. The grey-haired headmaster massaged the bridge of his nose, took up a well-worn, well-loved mug and sipped at the jasmine tea he'd poured, then grimaced.

"I  _hate_  cold tea," murmured the Professor as his thin fingers danced over the holographic keypad of his Scroll.

Most of the Huntsmen and Huntresses he could get a hold of on such short notice were ill-prepared to deal with something so unknown, so he would have to restrict his search to within Beacon. Most of the students were home for the semester break, and the few that remained were nowhere near equipped for this.

He'd need a combination of finesse and overwhelming firepower, and, as much as he hated to admit it, that left him with only one reasonable recourse.

Ozpin "the Great and Terrible" would have to take the field again.

…

Of course, that was assuming he could convince his Deputy of the necessity that  _he_  be the one to retrieve their colleague, something he wasn't having the easiest time of.

"...and that's why  _I_  have to be the one to go, Glynda. I don't doubt your skill; you are easily one of the most formidable Huntresses this school has produced, but there's simply no way to know what these 'Children of the Cosmos' are capable of." The stern-faced headmaster clutched at a rosary that hung from his throat, subconsciously seeking reassurance in the aged medallion.

"If I fall, I'll need someone I can trust to take my place until I can return."

Glynda Goodwitch, the Deputy Headmistress of Beacon Academy, fixed Ozpin with a piercing stare, her green eyes full of defiance and concern alike. The blonde, bespectacled woman's hand tightened around a riding crop, her weapon of choice against the howling dark—well, that and the elemental fury contained in the crystalline substance known as Dust.

The formidable woman began to pace agitatedly, the staccato of her heels clicking on the stone floor punctuated with the tower's ponderous ticking.

As she did her level best to wear a furrow in solid stone, she bit out, "I don't like this, Headmaster. With Amber attacked and her assailant still at large, this is the  _worst_  possible time for you to have to reincarnate."

She halted in place and turned to the man who was her employer, mentor, and friend. "If these …  _beings_  really could kill you, perhaps we should go about this in a different way."

Glynda massaged the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "I'd never have thought I would make a suggestion that  _James_  would, but wouldn't it be safer to go in with overwhelming firepower?"

Ozpin's left hand snaked out from where it laid in his lap and curled around the handle of a cane. It was largely unremarkable, the only identifying features being the gear symbol and trigger on the handle. Most would dismiss such an object as either a stylistic choice or an aid for an aging man.

Those people would find themselves corrected firmly and violently at the blunt end of Kaladanda.

Ozpin had never been one for flashiness for its own sake, and Kaladanda's simplicity reflected that. And frankly? Ozpin didn't  _need_ a fancy, multiform weapon. All he needed were his powers and his centuries of accumulated combat experience.

He rose from his chair, setting down his cup of tea and flipping his grip on Kaladanda to that of a fencer's. "Glynda," he said quietly but firmly, "I  _am_  the overwhelming firepower."

With that, Ozpin strode to the doors of an elevator, situated in the wall opposite his desk. As he waited for the doors to open, he spoke once more. "Don't count this old man out quite yet, Glynda. I still have some tricks up my sleeve."

With a  _ding_ , the elevator's doors opened, and his Deputy stayed behind, not  _quite_  wringing her hands with worried agitation.

-x-x-x-

It was surprising, Ozpin mused, that on his journey through the Emerald Forest he'd encountered so few Grimm. While the wiser Grimm would certainly give him a wide berth, knowing that for all but the most ancient of their kind facing him would be death, there were certainly more than enough juvenile Grimm in the forest that, between his worry for his comrade and his extraordinarily dense Aura, he should've been neck deep in Beowolves, Ursai, and Nevermore fledglings.

' _I'm certainly not complaining. Perhaps they can sense whatever creatures dwell in those dark depths.'_  The thought passed through the back of Ozpin's mind as he dashed away from a clearing, shaking the already-evaporating Grimm ichor from Kaladanda.

Behind him a veritable Tower of Babel stretched to the sky in its form of pitch-black dust, the five-hundred or so Grimm that had foolishly accosted him dissolving in unison, just as they'd been slain in unison.

…

It said a great deal about what Ozpin was truly capable of that he considered taking on  _five-hundred_  juvenile Grimm of varying type as significant a task as walking a few meters. But then, more than a millennium of battle experience  _would_  afford a significant edge in most fights, even if the physical benefits didn't carry over when he reincarnated.

As he proceeded towards the fell fissure scarring the forest, the number of Grimm rapidly dropped until, during the last few minutes of his run, not even a single Grimm accosted him.

This filled him with a sense of supreme  _unease_. If not even the  _youngest_  of Grimm would come near this place … Well. That boded ill, to say the least.

Ozpin's gait slowed as he stepped down into the fissure's entrance. If before he was lightning, blindingly fast and merciless, now he was silicate lava, proceeding slowly, inexorably, with the intent of razing to the ground anything that would stand between him and his subordinate.

So focused was he on his path forwards, he completely missed the series of small, glowing flowers that appeared in the places he'd stepped. As Ozpin descended into the maw of an ancient, forgotten tomb, dozens of white camellias and white chrysanthemums turned their petals as one towards the fissure.

-x-x-x-

' _Ah. It would seem we have more visitors, dear Cadfan. Shall I send them a guide?'_

…

" _Are you certain, dear one? I know you can sense it, the way this one's soul folds on itself, cradling layers upon layers of power formed of what once were minds in their own right. This one will not submit, not like the scholar did."_

…

" _Very well. I shall trust your judgment, Great Lattice."_

…

" _I have no idea what you mean, Great Lattice. I am simply addressing you with the reverence one such as you deserves."_

-x-x-x-

As Ozpin proceeded down a spiraling flight of worn stone stairs, his right hand held Kaladanda in a ready position even as he gathered the whispers of power and wrapped his right hand in a mixture of Aura and Magic. As the power of his soul melded with the sorcerous energies that remained to him, he moved steadily onward, following the connection that had formed between him and Doctor Oobleck when he'd unlocked the man's own Aura, all those years ago.

At the foot of those stairs, he came to an ornate stone door, covered with carvings and symbols that seemed to tell a story. Muttering an apology to Doctor Oobleck for what he was about to do, Ozpin drove an Aura-fortified kick into the heavy twin doors, causing them to erupt inwards.

As he proceeded through the opening, stepping over the rubble that had once been a priceless historical artifact, his eyes widened. The room he'd entered could scarcely be called such; a soaring, domed ceiling was held up by six massive, roughly hewn pillars. The arena, for that was all it could be, was unoccupied, with a small, undecorated wooden door at the other end.

His connection to Oobleck told him that the man was just beyond that door. By all appearances, he was almost there. His instincts told him that the greatest danger was to come. Not a single Grimm or any  _other_ kind of being had accosted him during his descent, and this wide open space would be the perfect place for a large creature, like the one that had enveloped in his colleague fully in its massive hand, to have full maneuverability.

A rustling sound from above had his eyes pinned to the ceiling, scouring every inch of its plain surface with a raptor gaze. From the corner of his eye, he spotted movement, hurling the mass of fused Sorcery and Soul he'd been clutching on instinct.

A loud, deep grunt of what might have been annoyance sounded from above him. In spite of himself, Ozpin's jaw dropped as the being he'd struck shimmered into view.

Six sickly grey, spindly limbs stretched several meters out to cling to each of the support pillars in a spiderlike fashion. A torso of equally inhuman length and thinness connected to the creature's two pairs of three jointed arms and single pair of backward-kneed legs, and a long, chitinous tail curled and uncurled behind it lazily.

The creature slowly curled one of its arms inward, silvery mist rising off of its spindly wrist where the sphere of Magic and Aura Ozpin had reflexively hurled had impacted the beast.

Three silver-irised eyes opened on the creature's oblong, egg-shaped, man sized head, first blinking blearily at Ozpin, then gazing at its own, injured wrist. Finally, the titan curled that arm protectively against its chest, and fixed its adversary with what might have been a glare. With a sound like a bone being cracked open and drained of marrow, a fanged maw parted along the front edge of its face as though yawning.

_A man who was more than just a man stared at something just beyond his comprehension._

_The_ _ **Callosum**_   _stared back._

As Ozpin looked on, momentarily transfixed by the sight of the colossal creature, and especially by the achingly familiar coloration of its irides, the Callosum lowered itself slowly to the ground, sinking back onto its haunches between Ozpin and the far door, letting three of its long arms dangle at its sides, its fourth still curled against itself protectively. Its threefold gaze never left Ozpin for even a moment, the venerable Headmaster striding slowly forward, then circling around the being cautiously.

As he got roughly halfway to the door, his eyes still fixed on the entity, its hand blurred and slammed down between Ozpin and the door.

Ozpin grimaced, but steeled himself. He'd come this far, and he wouldn't be kept from his collegue, his  _friend_ , by some anorexic abomination. He raised Kaladanda, the brilliant green of his Aura and Magic flaring along its black haft…

_And he_ _**moved** _ _._

The stone floor under the Headmaster crumpled inward as though struck by a hammer as he pushed off with too much force for even the ancient stone to withstand.

The Callosum's head snapped to and fro, its apparent weariness discarded in an instant in the face of this dangerous opponent. Unfortunately for the eldritch being, as far as Ozpin was concerned, that barest instant between passivity and vigilance ...  _was all the Time in the world_.

Ozpin reappeared well within the colossal creature's guard, striking the Callosum a hundred times within the course of a second.

Now several orders of magnitude faster than his opponent, Ozpin dodged out of the way of the Callosum's retaliatory swipe. As he danced out of range of the thing's arms, it hunched over and vomited, a river of pale, almost translucent ichor stemming from the internal damage Kaladanda had given it.

That was the beauty of Ozpin's cane, really. No edge with which to slice, no point with which to pierce, and no barrel with which to shoot; it was little wonder few believed that Kaladanda was his true weapon. Ozpin didn't care; a heart pierced by a rib would kill as readily as a one pierced by a blade, and usually with much less mess, present company excluded.

As Ozpin looked on, the Callosum finished expelling the spilled blood and bile from within itself, then straightened almost drunkenly, a long-fingered hand to its head and its eyes squeezed shut. Considering how weakened it looked, and how simple it had been to inflict what appeared to be catastrophic internal damage on the beast, Ozpin could be excused for becoming a bit confident.

However, that confidence would soon be proven... _less valid_  than expected.

The Lattice hadn't chosen the Callosum for its speed, its physical strength, or even its ability to take punishment. No, the Callosum's specialties lay in other, more  _Arcane_  arts, as its veiling of itself from even Ozpin's sight had shown. After all, the Lattice had sensed mystic power stemming from one of those Great Spirits within the intruder; it was only right that a Sorcerer was met by one of his children closest to the Cosmos.

As Ozpin sent more Magic and Aura coursing through the haft of Kaladanda, all three of the Callosum's eyes snapped open, a corcusating torrent of silver-white energy lashing out,  _burning_ at space itself in its haste to strike at its wielder's opponent.

Switching his grip on his weapon from a fencer's stance to a two-handed reverse grip, Ozpin slammed Kaladanda's tip into the ground. A crackling green sphere of Soul and Sorcery encased the man even as he lunged forward, winding Kaladanda back for a vicious two-handed blow.

_Eldritch Arcana screamed towards Divine Sorcery._

_The two forces clashed and ripped at each other, rejecting one another._

_Their world went white._

-x-x-x-

The powers that collided in that subterranean arena were fundamentally opposed in every way save two. They both stemmed from beings beyond mortal ken, and were now wielded by beings that had once been men, but had long since transcended that state.

Both of these beings decried and resented their transformations, but just as their magics were fundamentally opposed, so too were their lamentations.

Ozpin saw his condition as a curse and an unpleasant duty both, enduring the endless cycle of death, rebirth, and inevitable subsumption of the new host in a dim hope that the last, greatest evil might be vanquished.

The Lattice, in the brief times that the consciousness of Cadfan was at the forefront of its being, viewed its new form as a gift and a means to shield mankind from the less amicable dwellers of the Cosmos. The Great One's sorrow was not a product of the things it had gained in its ascension, but the opportunities it had lost. Due first to his wasting sickness and then to being thrust into the role of a Hunter, Cadfan had been too busy  _surviving_ to truly  _live_.

Never once did he get to go on a hunt, to bring down a great stag and provide a week's food for his family. Always the prey of his Hunts were men in the form of beasts at best, and the madness-inducing, sorrowful Children of the Cosmos at worst.

Never once did he get to experience romance, to dance with a woman, to court one. No, the only dancing with a woman he'd ever done had been intercut by the flashing of his blades and her own, and had terminated with him severing the tendons in her wrists, snatching the woman's saber and dagger from her injured hands and driving them into her heart.

Never once did he get to experience the embrace of a lover. The closest he'd ever gotten was the brief moment that Flora had taken him in her arms, and even that was repelled by the mysterious power he'd partaken of, power that had slept in the umbilical cords of Great Ones long since passed.

Indeed, the spirit of Cadfan Lloyd that slept within the Lattice had gladly set about his self-appointed task – he simply wished that he could have had more time for  _life_  before he'd done so.

…

Little did Cadfan know that in a world like Remnant, where Legends walked the land and the Relics of the Brother Gods lay dreaming beneath the cold stone, something as small as a wish made by an unaware spirit could cause insurmountable change.

Would that change be for good or ill, however…

Only time would tell.

**AN: Well, here's the second chapter. I hope you all enjoy! As always, my heartfelt thanks to Slavok, Teninshigen, and TheLonelyWillow for all their support. For those of you who were anticipating another chapter of Fuis Ton Destin today, I apologize. My muse has been rather stubborn of late, but I hope to put forth the next chapter sometime next week.**


	3. Chapter 2: Metanoia

Chapter 2: Metanoia

A few pages after the last entry, the journal picks up again.

_After I recovered from the shock that was the Doll, I entered the now-unlocked cabin atop the hill. Inside, I met an aged man in a wheeled chair. The reason for his choice of seating became immediately apparent when I saw his feet – or rather, his_ **_foot_ ** _. His left foot was intact, but his right had been amputated and replaced by a thin wooden peg._

_The man introduced himself as Gehrman, and claimed to be ‘a friend to you Hunters’. I didn’t know quite what that meant, and I still don’t think I comprehend it, not fully._

_The man told me I had free use of any of the tools in the Hunter’s Workshop, then offered something that even now makes me embarrassed and agitated._

_He said that I could ‘even use the Doll, if I liked’. I know not if he meant what I think he did, but the idea of..._ **_using_ ** _another living thing like that disgusts me. It matters little to me if the Doll is made of ceramics and wood or meat and bone; she speaks and moves and reasons._

_She is no object, even if her uncanny appearance makes me dreadfully uncomfortable._

The handwriting of the next journal entry is shaky and thin, but legible.

_He was mad. I had to do it. I_ **_had_ ** _to! He turned into a monster! He tried to kill me without provocation! I_ **_had_ ** _to kill him! Didn’t I?_

_…_

_Mother, Father...forgive me. Your son no longer has clean hands…_

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I

Circa 0 M.F.

(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

When the brilliant, piercing radiance spawned of burning Soul and screaming Unreality faded, the victor was made clear. Ozpin stood hunched, his knuckles stark white against the silver handle of Kaladanda. Bowed but unbroken, the Headmaster of Beacon looked behind him to the remains of the eldritch horror that had been his opponent.

At the last possible second, Ozpin had contorted the barrier of Aura and Magic that had been surrounding him into a thin, sharp blade and wrapped it around Kaladanda’s haft, then lashed out at the beam of Arcane energy and the creature who had fired it.

The monster was split in twain from what passed for a crotch all the way to the crown of its head. As he looked on, the two halves of the creature fell to either side and exploded into silver mist.

Ozpin’s chest heaved with effort; that technique had exhausted his magic _far_ more than it would have even a decade ago.

While the majority of his magical power had been divided and gifted to the Maidens of the Seasons a few millennia ago (to say nothing of the further splitting of his reserves to gift the Branwen twins their transformative abilities), what magic remained to him refilled itself from the world’s own energies. Rather than him losing more and more of a limited resource, he was reducing the size of the ‘container’ in which he could store that resource.

Regardless of the metaphysical and mystical particulars, the fact remained that Ozpin had wasted far too much magic in this battle. Years of sitting behind a desk and plotting had caused his mastery of the Artes Magic to dwindle. Why, as he was now, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that some _upstart_ with delusions of grandeur could get in a clever strike and force him to reincarnate.

This, Ozpin decided, could not stand. Even if it meant that he had to delegate more to his subordinates, he needed to re-familiarize himself with his power. If that meant trusting those close to him with more information than he’d like, then so be it.

His magic was one of the most potent weapons in their arsenal against the ravening hordes that sought to devour them all, and the Black Queen that directed those hordes from her twisted throne.

Even as half a dozen ideas for training sprang to mind, Ozpin straightened with a huff, then strode to the door, grabbing the handle and wrenching it open in a single movement.

Beyond the door was a narrow, nondescript hallway. At the other end, the Headmaster could see a bit of blue light flickering from out of view. Straining his ears to the limit, he picked up two voices; one male, excited and curious, the other female, calm and patient. The man was undoubtedly Bartholomew, but Ozpin could only guess at what sort of sentient, sapient being would dwell in these depths.

As Ozpin crept forward, Kaladanda once more raised in a guarding position, the scent of old parchment and fresh ink wafted by him, as well as a richer and sharper aroma that he couldn’t quite place.

Just as the Headmaster got close enough to the room to make out their words, the voices ceased.

After a few tense moments of Ozpin inching forward soundlessly, the female voice called, “There is no purpose attempting to conceal yourself, O’ Magus. This close to him, there is nothing obscured from the Eyes of the Lattice. Step forward, that we may treat with you and yours.” Ozpin could _hear_ the capitalization of ‘Eyes’ simply by the emphasis that the unknown woman had placed upon it.

Ozpin lowered Kaladanda into a less aggressive position at his side, then adjusted his grip in such a fashion that he could still raise it in an instant if the situation required it. With deliberate, measured steps, the Headmaster entered the room.

The first thing that Ozpin noticed upon entering the room were the books. The cozy, office-style room was _filled_ with a wide variety of books, large and small. The collection was expansive to a degree that veritably dominated the surroundings – whether stacked from the floor or side-by-side on the shelves, every square inch of the room seemed hope to at least a few words.

The second thing he noticed, focussing past the overwhelming literary presence, was Bartholomew. The eccentric Doctor was seated beside a desk, unrestrained and completely relaxed...or, as relaxed as Bartholomew ever was, in any case.

The third thing Ozpin noticed was the human-sized doll sitting at that same desk, staring expectantly at him. As he looked on, the white-haired ceramic woman got to her feet and inclined her head in his direction. “Greetings, Magus. I am Isolde, caretaker of this place, this seat of the Lattice.”

Ozpin stared at the artificial woman for a moment, then nodded very slightly, relaxing fractionally upon seeing Bartholomew apparently unharmed, in body at least. Whether his mind was untouched remained to—

“Headmaster! You won’t believe all the knowledge that’s been gathered here! Firsthand accounts of the events that caused the Moonfall, beings from beyond Remnant; it’s as fascinating as it is disturbing!” As he spoke, a shining-eyed Oobleck gesticulated wildly, narrowly avoiding toppling a stack of thick, dusty tomes to his left.

…

_‘Nevermind,’_ Ozpin thought wryly, _‘his mind is the same as usual.’_

Ozpin tapped his cane against the floor and cleared his throat. “While I am pleased to see that no harm has been done to my subordinate, I need to know _why_ you found it necessary to have him snatched and dragged away.” Ozpin narrowed his eyes fractionally. “I don’t take kindly to my people being manhandled, you understand?”

Isolde bowed her head. “I must apologize for the discourtesy done to you both.” She turned her eyes to Bartholomew. “The little one that grabbed you did so at my behest, if not on my orders.” Her ceramic lips twisted into a sad smile. “It’s just been so _long_ since I’ve talked to one of you humans.”

A faint rumbling cut her off, and there was a quiet crunching from the wall beside Isolde. What could only be described as a _bud_ of crystal, multifaceted and gleaming with unearthly aquamarine light, pushed from the wall, knocking aside several books. As Ozpin looked on, tiny particles of the unknown stone flaked off en masse, swirling into the air and forming a series of shapes that—

Ozpin winced and turned his eyes from the stone, noting that Bartholomew had done the same. Looking at those strange symbols wasn’t _painful_ , but it _was_ rather uncomfortable, the spiritual equivalent of accidentally staring directly at the sun for a moment or two.

Even though Ozpin’s eyes were turned from the scene, his ears were keenly focused on the next words that came from Isolde. “Dearest Cadfan, you know as well as I that, in spite of your lingering spirit within the Lattice, you are stretched thin, both metaphorically and literally. You can’t possibly expect to be able to fulfill your self-set duty _and_ entertain me at the same time. You aren’t a full Great One yet, so spacio-temporal manipulation on such a level is beyond you.”

There was a rustling of cloth, then the ceramic woman continued speaking. “You may retain your humanity, but it waxes and wanes as time goes on.” Isolde sighed. “And do I really need to mention how your humanity has begun to fade, to merge with the greater Lattice? At this rate of decline, you’ve a couple more centuries at best, and then you’ll truly become a Great One, no matter your wishes to the contrary.”

Ozpin cleared his throat. While he didn’t know _all_ the particulars of what they’d been discussing, an Idea was taking root in his mind, one both concerning and intriguing.

“So, allow me to see if I understand you correctly. That... _being_ was one of your subordinates, knew that you were lonely, and when Bartholomew entered these ruins it decided to bring him to you to keep you company.” As Isolde’s nod, Ozpin continued. “Your subordinate’s lack of delicacy and poor communication skills can be discussed later. What I would like to know is why was _I_ accosted, and prevented from reaching your room?”

Isolde grimaced. “I’m afraid that your possession of Divine sorcery piqued the curiosity of the Lattice, and He wished to compare the Arcane power of the Cosmos side-by-side with the magic of the Brother Gods.” Isolde looked reproachfully at the blue-green crystal to her left. “Unfortunately, the Lattice hasn’t been fully human for a long while, and thus decided to take the course of action that was quicker and more likely to elicit the result He desired, rather than _be polite and ask_.”

In spite of its clear solidity, the aquamarine crystal _drooped_ , reminding Ozpin of nothing so much as a repentant child.

Isolde turned back to Ozpin. “As the Lattice cannot apologize to you directly without exposing you to a cognitohazard, I shall apologize to you in His stead.”

“...While I am not usually one to hold a grudge,” Ozpin bit out, “and I can certainly understand the value of a trial-by-fire, as it were, I can’t say that I’m pleased _in the slightest_ at his decision.” Ozpin sighed; clearly he was more tired from that fight than he’d thought if he was letting his emotions show in such an unproductive manner. “But I’m willing to table that discussion for the time being. I have more important things to ask.”

The Headmaster jerked his chin at the crystal. “I presume that _this_ is that ‘Lattice’ you kept mentioning, but _what_ is it?”

Tinkling laughter echoed through the room, Isolde covering her mouth demurely. “My dear Magus. It is _remarkable_ how close and yet how far you are from the truth.”

She laid a dainty, ceramic hand on top of the crystal. “This is but one infinitesimal part of the Lattice’s full form. I would offer to show you His core, but I fear that your mind would not take too kindly to the sight. Even a Great One born from a human cannot fully eliminate the risk of viewing its true form.” Isolde paused, seemingly considering something. “That said, the magic within you _might_ afford you some measure of resistance to that effect...”

As the ceramic caretaker mused to herself, Ozpin considered her words. For instance, he could surmise that a ‘Great One’ was one of the number of Cosmic horrors that the tales had told of.

As for the idea of a cognitohazard...well. The progenitor of the Grimm had been around even longer than he had, and she’d devoted an exhaustive amount of that time to creating better killing machines out of her children. Was it any wonder, then, that she’d managed to stumble on such subtle ways of killing?

Be it the aneurysm-inducing visage of a Gorgon or the seizure-causing dirges produced by a pod of Selkies, Ozpin was all too familiar with things that brought death from simple observation.

Indeed, more than a few of his ‘lives’ had met untimely ends because of such creatures, if only because it took precious time for him and the original owner of the body to become one and the same.

_Why_ the Black Queen didn’t simply shape her creations from inception to take those forms was beyond him, but he hoped it was because she _couldn’t_. If she was just playing a game, toying with mankind all the while holding back an endless tide of seething fangs and roiling darkness…

Then their cause had been lost from the very start.

Ozpin sighed, pushed his melancholy to one side, then fixated upon one thing in particular that she’d said. “What do you mean by ‘a Great One born of a human’, Miss Isolde?”

The woman cocked her head to one side, white tresses whispering across ceramic skin. “Ah, forgive me…”

Ozpin smiled wanly. He may have encountered eldritch horrors from the dawn of time, but that was no excuse to forego his manners. “Ozpin. Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon Academy of Huntsmen and Huntresses.”

At the word ‘Huntsmen’, the tendril of aquamarine crystal perked up, and Ozpin got the sense that ‘the Lattice’ was paying a greater deal of attention to him than it had been before.

Isolde nodded, then said, “Well, to answer your question, the Lattice was once a man named Cadfan Lloyd. He was the last Hunter to be trained by Gehrman, The First Hunter. He was inheritor to Gehrman’s scythe, along with the swords of Eileen the Crow, Ludwig the Holy Blade, and Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower. I name him Moonslayer, Dreambreaker and Starborn.”

By this time, Isolde’s voice had hit a fevered, almost fanatical pitch. She appeared to realize this abruptly, her mouth snapping shut with a _click_ . Her ceramic cheeks flushed red as she coughed into a fist, looking everywhere _but_ at the other occupants of the room.

Ozpin cleared his throat. “Well. That’s quite the array of titles.” A glance at Bartholomew told him all he needed to know; the Doctor was practically _rabid_ with curiosity. After all, they both well knew that a person didn’t get titles like that without performing some fairly significant feats.

The only remaining sign of Isolde’s embarrassment was the rapidly-fading pink on her face. She waved Ozpin to a chair immediately beside Oobleck’s, before sinking smoothly back into her own. Ozpin followed suit, the wood of the chair creaking slightly under his weight.

“So,” Ozpin began, planting his cane before him and resting steepled fingers atop it, “now that I have a bit of context as to just _what_ inhabits this place, I have to ask: what are the Lattice’s intentions towards mankind?” Ozpin grimaced. “I know all too well that beings born of humanity do not necessarily retain a fondness for it.”

Isolde looked at the Headmaster as though he’d said something incredibly outlandish, before a look of dawning comprehension washed the incredulous expression off her face. “Of course you wouldn’t know,” she mused, “one can hardly observe the prevention of invasion from outside reality. ”

Ozpin arched an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“To put it simply,” she said, “the Lattice embraces the very world with His protection. Great Ones and other beings of Cosmic origin are repelled from this world by His very will.”

Isolde smiled, a pleasant, open expression. “Of course, there have been visitors that were friendly, and that showed willingness to learn how to communicate with mankind in a way that isn’t harmful. They were turned away, albeit more gently and after an exchange of knowledge, which may as well be the currency of beings that exist betwixt mind and matter. The hostile ones, though…” Isolde’s smile now had far more teeth than before, reminding Ozpin of a wolf staring down a particularly succulent cut of meat. _“They_ were either violently repelled or subsumed altogether.”

“You’re saying,” Ozpin bit out incredulously, “that your Lattice has been repelling all manner of Cosmic horrors for Gods know how long, all without anybody noticing?”

Isolde shook her head. “I’m sure that many people _did_ notice, at least at first. The Lattice hasn’t always been as colossal and experienced as He is now; during the early years, after the various denizens of the Cosmos noticed the death of Flora and the subsequent apotheosis of her successor...well. There were a number of close calls.”

Isolde patted the crystalline tendril fondly. “As He is now, though? He may now only be able to do this one thing, but at this he is without peer.” The Lattice’s appendage wriggled in what appeared to be joy, though Ozpin thought he sensed something...sorrowful?

The Headmaster absently wondered how a tendril of sometimes-solid, sometimes-gelatinous crystal could be so expressive. _‘Mmm. A question for another time; can’t allow myself to get sidetracked. There is still so much that I need to know about this Lattice and his creatures, to say nothing of his handmaiden, this artificial woman of ceramic.’_

Ozpin’s thin fingers tapped the side of Kaladanda thoughtfully as a dozens of suggestions, appeals, pleas, and threats were considered and discarded a second. Manipulation came second nature to the man after centuries of dealing with people, however much he found it distasteful.

Knowing as little as he did about these two, though...all he could say for certain was that threatening them would be an exercise in futility. Even if their tale about protecting Remnant from encroachment from the Cosmos was absolute fantasy, both he and they knew that he couldn’t afford _not_ to believe them.

Mankind simply _couldn’t_ fight a war against monsters on two fronts; Hells, to say that they were managing well on _one_ front would be generous almost to the point of blind optimism. If the Lattice truly _was_ holding back unknown hordes of Eldritch abominations…

Ozpin shook his head. To say that the outcome of antagonizing the Lattice would be undesirable would be an understatement, which made it all the more imperative that they reach a consensus, and soon. Amber being attacked and having half of her powers, half of her _soul_ taken...the Black Queen would be making her move soon. He could _feel_ it.

Ozpin exhaled slowly, feeling now more than ever the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I’ll be frank with you, Miss Isolde. Mankind is in a bad way, and if something doesn’t change, there’s a very real possibility that there won’t _be_ a humanity for the Lattice to safeguard soon. That witch... _Salem_...she’ll live up to her father’s mantle soon enough if she’s not stopped.”

Ozpin’s grip tightened on Kaladanda’s haft. “She is the daughter of Ahriman, the Brother of Destruction, and mankind is beset by her slavering army of darkness on all sides.” The Headmaster shut his eyes wearily. “I don’t know what I could possibly offer you in return, but I _have_ to ask. Will you help me protect mankind?”

The expression of hopelessness that crossed Isolde’s face as he finished speaking caused an almost palpable weight to sink onto his shoulders.

“I am sorry, Headmaster. When I said that the Lattice can only do one thing, I meant it.” Isolde gestured to the room around them. “Within his domain, close to one of his four cores, his power is indistinguishable from that of a God. That is how he is able to repel any and all invaders. However…” Isolde wrung her ball-jointed hands. “Power like that comes at a cost. The form the Lattice has taken is completely incapable of meaningful movement outside of a very tight radius of his cores. The rest of him inches through the flesh of this world, shielding it in his crystalline embrace.” The small tendril the Lattice had let out seemed to nod.

Isolde sighed. “Truly, I’m sure that Cadfan would positively leap at the opportunity to aid you, to take on a human form once more and lend his skills and Arcana, but...every time we tried, his soul could not tether properly to the form we gave it. The connection just wasn’t strong enough.”

Upon hearing this, Ozpin cupped his chin. An idea began to form within the depths of his mind. An audacious and absurd idea.

“I may have a suggestion for you…”

-x-x-x-

The chamber they stood in was dimly lit and ominous, a glaring contrast to the cozy study they’d come from.

After Ozpin had explained just what his idea was, Isolde had looked wordlessly to the nub of the Lattice protruding from the wall. After a few moments of communion between the two, Isolde had risen and led them here.

As Ozpin and Oobleck looked on in a mixture of fascination and discomfort, Isolde directed tiny, emaciated men to place chalices in the center of the room in a peculiar pattern.

Three were placed at even distances in a vertical line, while two more were placed to either side of the gap between the lower two. Finally, two exceptionally small containers, barely larger than a cereal bowl, were placed just above the bottom chalice, further in from the two ‘wings’.

As the last chalice was set in place, lines of pale light traced between the cups, tracing a symbol on the ground. A long, vertical line with two bent ‘wings’ to either side, beginning just below the center of the line, then traveling out, turning a sharp 90° angle, then coming back towards the bottom of the line.

The more Ozpin stared at the symbol, the more he felt... _something_ building within him. Not quite a desire, not quite a thought, just...the very concept of _something_ was hovering in the back of his mind, but for the life of him he couldn’t place it.

He shook his head. There’d be time enough for introspection and questioning later; now was the time for him to do his damnedest to make good on his suggestion or, as the kids would say, ‘put his Lien where his mouth is’.

As he looked on, those odd little things (which reminded him uncomfortably of tiny versions of the being he’d faced in that stone arena) placed macabre reagents into the chalices. He saw two different sorts of eyeballs, several chunks of what looked to be coagulated blood, some half-decomposed hands and hair, a rotten spine, and even what appeared to be a few vials of semi-liquified cerebral cortex.

After they were done, Isolde stepped forward, scattering the dust of what she’d referred to as ‘the bone of an Old Hunter’ into the lines of light, which burned brighter. She followed up this offering by hurling two slimy shapes through the air, where they hung motionless for a frozen moment, just long enough for Ozpin to see what they looked like.

They were... _slugs_?

One was deep blue at its core, with translucent, pale green skin covering it. Several antler-like tendrils poked up from what appeared to be its head, and a pallid tail tipped the other end.

Its body was edged in numerous chaotic spikes, also translucent.

The other was far less... _flashy_ , appearing totally unremarkable; if it weren’t for its dull jade coloration and remarkable size, it could’ve passed for an ordinary slug.

As the moment ended, the pale light flared a brilliant aquamarine, bright enough to rival the Lattice’s crystals. Tendrils of Arcane energy snapped up like the lash of a slaver, tore the slugs (which Ozpin would later learn were called ‘phantasms’) from the air and dragged them into the central chalice.

Finally, Isolde began to sing.

Neither Ozpin nor Oobleck could comprehend the words, but the emotion? The raw, untamed hope and despair in that artificial voice? It would’ve moved Ozpin to tears if he hadn’t been focusing almost all of his attention on the upcoming step; the step that required _his_ help.

In theory, anyone capable of unlocking an Aura would’ve been able to do what he was about to do – but in practice? He was quite possibly the only living thing on the planet with any meaningful experience in soul transposition (though James was certainly making... _unsettling_ progress on the topic from a scientific standpoint), and his unique situation would hopefully allow him to help this strange endeavor succeed.

Kaladanda was cast to one side, barely caught by Oobleck as Ozpin walked slowly forward. Streams of blood arced up from the chalices, the sea-green gleam of the Lattice’s crystal glittering within the blood even as other parts burned with unearthly flame, leaving cinders within the fel rivers.

The streams all poured towards the central chalice, in which a sizeable rock of what appeared to be crystallized blood sat, surrounded by more buds of the Lattice’s crystal.

As Isolde’s voice reached a crescendo, the hairs on the back of Ozpin’s neck all stood at attention, and the burning blood, filled with dark cinders and gleaming crystals, began to bubble out of the chalice.

Soon enough, the chalice had dissolved beneath the viscous liquid, and as the blood touched the azure flames of the rune, those flames darkened. In rapid order, the strange sigil was drawn upon the ground in faintly following blood, the chalices and their contents subsumed just as the first had been.

Ozpin stood near the bottom of the sanguine rune, so that the bent ‘wings’ pointed towards him. In tandem with Isolde reaching the bottom of a decrescendo, the light faded, like embers burning out in the night. After a short pause, Ozpin opened his mouth to question Isolde, before he heard it.

A squelching noise, like someone digging their hand into an open gut wound (and didn’t _that_ bring back all manner of unpleasant memories). Ozpin squinted at the bloody symbol, pushing a miniscule amount of Aura into his eyes to enhance his night vision.

The blood had thickened, becoming an almost pudding-like substance. It was now ripping itself off of the symbol, breaking apart at certain points, and taking familiar shapes. The blood that had become the wings was turning into arms, while part of the vertical line had become a torso. The very tip of the rune nearest him was becoming a head.

As he watched a body made entirely of blood take form, he realized three things at once, all related to one another. Isolde had stopped singing, Bartholomew was gagging and retching behind them both, and the sensation that he’d experienced upon seeing the Lattice’s runic communication was back and significantly worse.

As the seconds passed, Ozpin felt a pressure building behind his eyes, and some instinctive part of him was urging him to turn away, that his life was in danger if he kept looking.

But Ozpin had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

In one seamless motion, Ozpin knelt, pressed his fingers to either side of the bloody figure’s ‘head’ where the temples would be on a normal human, and slammed his eyes shut.

Under his breath, he mumbled old words, an ancient compact with one’s soul long lost to the present.

_Thou, body, art earth,_

_Thou, mind, art sea,_

_Thou, spirit, art storm._

_With thy pledge, thy contract, thy burden,_

_Thy soul shalt be sword and bow and shield to mankind!_

**_Rise, Proud Archon of Ahura Mazda._ **

As his soul reached through the blood and met with the vastness of the Lattice, through the Eyes of the Lattice Ozpin saw Infinity. Infinity and the Lattice took mercy upon him, and forced shut his Eyes before they burnt out his soul.

Ozpin gasped, tumbling back from where he knelt to land prone on his back, his Aura flashing into visibility for a brief moment to prevent him from injuring his head on the cold stone.

As Ozpin pulled himself up to a seated position, his eyes ever-so-slightly wild and his chest heaving, he saw that, where once there’d been a human-shaped mass of blood, there now was a nude male form, its skin so pale as to be almost translucent and hair like freshly fallen snow.

From where he sat, he had a prime view of the man’s eyes and mouth flying open in tandem, a joyous howl that grated on his very soul erupting from the vocal cords of the man who could only be Cadfan Lloyd.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

In two very different places, thousands of miles apart, two very different women started from their sleep. Two pairs of eyes fixed on the same shattered moon, and had two very different reactions.

Ruby Rose shrugged, rolled over in her bed, and returned to sleep.

The Immortal Queen Annalise of the Forgotten Kingdom of Cainhurst smiled. Had anyone been around to see it, they would’ve most likely been simultaneously entranced and terrified.

Alas, her sole living guest in this kingdom, obscured by Paleblood Sorcery and guarded by the phantoms of ages past, was asleep in her quarters.

_“Cadfan, Our knight...you’d best not keep Us waiting long…”_

* * *

**AN: Well, this took longer to get out than anticipated, but I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out. As always, profuse thanks to Teninshigen and Slavok for looking over my work and making sure it looks smoother and more...well,** **_more_ ** **.**

**Finally, I have a challenge for you all, dear readers (Except Tenin, because he already knows the answer).**

**There is a particular part of the ritual conducted in this chapter that was inspired by a certain cinematic in a From Software game. Whoever can figure out both what part of the ritual it is and what it is a reference to may ask me a question about the future of the story and receive an answer. However, if the question is spoilery, I’ll only tell you** **_some_ ** **of the answer.**

**Enjoy!**


	4. Chapter 3: Cleave

Chapter 3: Cleave

_That woman was black as night and deadly as nightshade. Her body was shrouded by a feathered cape and a black tunic, while her face was obscured by a beaked mask and a large black hat. At one hip hung a small pistol, at the other a thin, glittering blade._

_I’m not ashamed to admit that, when I met her, I couldn’t breathe. Something inside me, some baser instinct or gut feeling told me that she was_ **_Death_ ** _, leashed by the body of a mortal woman._

_Perhaps I sensed how skilled she was. My blood recognizing another, superior predator to myself._

_Whatever the case, I soon found my instincts to be correct. She spoke cordially to me, then reentered the chapel and descended into the tomb where I slew the beast that had been Gascoigne._

_Against her wishes, and my better judgment, I followed her down. When I arrived, I found her fighting another Hunter, her blade split in twain to form twin daggers, glimmering with silver light as they snaked past the yellow-garbed man’s jagged cleaver._

_It was like watching a bear try to kill a hornet. Judging from how the man turned gravestones to rubble with the most casual of swings, all he needed was one solid hit to tear her in two, and from the look of things, they both knew it._

_The woman was_ damn _careful to make sure that he didn’t get such an opportunity, even as her vorpal slashes and lightning-fast thrusts wore him down bit by bloody bit, at times moving faster than my blood-enhanced eyes could even track._

_All it took, though, was one glancing blow. A single overhead stroke of his cleaver that hit slightly more firmly than the woman had anticipated, and she was crushed to the ground. Something in me_ snapped _then._

_I felt calm, like I was seeing the world through someone else’s eyes, and that nothing I saw was real. My movements were scarcely my own, and before I knew it, I had acted._

_While the man’s eyes were still pinned to his opponent’s prone form, I unfurled my cane-blade into its whip form. With a flick of my wrist, the bladed wire had encircled his neck with the barest whisper of steel, and with a yank, his head and body fell to the ground in two different directions._

_I don’t know if it was the haze I was in, or the fact that I’ve already killed so many, but the sight of blood fountaning from the stump of his neck as he toppled to the ground did not faze me in the slightest._

_As the fog overshadowing my mind began to lift, I felt a hand on my shoulder. The woman in black had risen once more, the two vials dangling from her left hand and emptied of blood, an unspoken yet clear explanation of her lack of injury._

_She berated me mildly for interfering in her fight, but even a recluse such as I could tell that her words were born of genuine concern, not wounded pride. This was further illustrated by how she quietly thanked me for my help, and told me to ‘leave the hunting of Hunters to her’._

_Honestly, that woman...why do I get the feeling that Eileen the Crow is headed down a path to a tragic, inevitable end?_

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I

Circa 0 M.F.

(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

In his many years of life (or, perhaps, it should be lives?), Ozpin had heard his fair share of inhuman noises coming from the mouths of humans and Faunus alike.

The wailing dirge of a mother stripped of her child, the violent hacking of a leper whose lungs filled slowly with fluid and rot...and most recently a roar of blind rage and agony, born of a brother whose sister had died because _his_ school failed to train her as well as it should have. Because _he_ had failed Hazel and Gretchen Reinart.

The point was, Ozpin had heard pretty much every ungodly noise a person could make in the throes of strong emotion. But not _one_ of them held a candle to the triumphant, joyous, _utterly alien_ howl that had erupted from the pale, nude form of Cadfan Lloyd as the newly incarnated Hunter rose to his feet.

As the abyssal exultation petered off, so too did the unpleasant grating sensation against his soul. Even as he himself rose to his feet, Ozpin noted Cadfan stretching his limbs, presumably getting used to the feeling of having a human body for a change.

Ozpin’s eyes widened as several fleshy tendrils slid from parts of the nude man’s body and wrapped around his waist in layers, providing the reborn Hunter some small degree of modesty.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ozpin noticed Isolde striding swiftly from the room, clearly intent on _something_.

All thoughts of the ceramic woman were driven from the Headmaster's mind as the lithe, snowy-haired man turned his eyes to Ozpin, glacial blue irides and strangely glittering pupils fixing on him inquisitively.

After a few moments of silence, the incarnated Great One spoke, his voice slow and soft, yet clearer than the air itself. “I must thank you for your help, Ser Ozpin.”

The hair on the back of Ozpin’s neck stood on end, and the Headmaster shivered slightly. Like Cadfan’s howl, his voice carried a certain undefinable _something_ within it that felt... _other_ , though this time less unpleasantly so.

Even as Ozpin experienced the uncanny sensation of Communing with a Great One safely (and thus becoming the first human to do so without any detrimental side effects), he noted that his accent differed rather sharply from Isolde's. While the ceramic woman's accent lent her words a song-like lilt, Cadfan's accent was sharp and quick, as though the man wished to speak as little as possible.

As Ozpin entertained these thoughts, he replied to Cadfan’s thanks. “Think nothing of it. It’s not as though I did this solely out of the goodness of my heart, though I will admit to believing that one willing to sacrifice so much should be given what comfort is available in this cold, cruel world.”

Ozpin let out a weary, lengthy sigh. “Unfortunately... comfort is a scarce commodity in this dying world, as much as I wish it were otherwise.” Left unsaid were all the times that Ozpin had to _withhold_ comfort, aid, and any number of other things for the sake of mankind's survival. Sacrificing the few to ensure the survival of the many...the Headmaster knew in his heart that 'necessity’ and 'the greater good’ were flimsy justifications, and no punishment, no recompense could atone for the sins he'd committed, the cold calculus of human lives he'd engaged in time and time again.

Ozpin’s eyes closed as he leaned on his cane, the weight of his sins a palpable force clawing at him, crawling upon his back. But even as all of the failures, harsh choices, and deaths piled upon him, he did not bow. He did not break. He couldn’t. Not while his duty was left undone.

Cadfan did not speak when faced with the Headmaster’s moment of weakness. The Hunter couldn't pretend to understand what the man was going through, but he knew a thing or two about self-recrimination and doubt. He wouldn't judge, he _couldn't_. The pale man considered trying to comfort the Headmaster, but Cadfan had never been good with sympathy. Besides, the Hunter doubted that Ozpin would appreciate the embrace of a nearly nude stranger.

As if summoned by Cadfan's thoughts, Isolde strode back into the chamber, a familiar cloth bundle tucked under one arm. She strode to his side and pressed the clothes into Cadfan's hands. Ozpin looked away while the Hunter was dressing, and regarded Bartholomew with a measuring gaze.

The Doctor looked out of sorts, the joyful screech Cadfan had voiced clearly having had a more severe effect on the historian than Ozpin would have preferred. Thankfully, Oobleck looked to be recovering slowly, color returning to his face as he leaned against the far wall of the ritual chamber.

The verdant-haired Doctor shook his head upon meeting Ozpin's questioning, concerned gaze, waving a hand wearily. 'Attend to this first,’ Bartholomew's gaze seemed to say, 'I will be fine.’

Ozpin knew that, though Dr. Oobleck _was_ prone to distraction by things of a historic nature, the man was sensible. If his friend had assessed himself and not found fault, Ozpin would trust that judgement.

Of course, that didn't mean that he wouldn't be subjecting Bartholomew to every checkup known to man and Faunus alike when they returned to Beacon. He knew that the good Doctor would be irked at this; the man was all but salivating at all the historical knowledge present here. He'd surely want to spend the rest of his time before term reading all the tomes here that he could, all the while cross-referencing the most recent history books to prepare a thesis that might never get published.

Turning back to Cadfan, who was now dressed, Ozpin shook his head. He'd rather have his stubborn friend irritated at him than risk something being wrong with him that wasn't evident.

The Headmaster scrutinized Cadfan – or, rather, Cadfan's choice of attire. A worn, wide-brimmed hat sat atop his head, with a cloth bandana masking everything from the bridge of the Hunter's nose to his collar.

A faded cravat hung from his neck, held in place by an emerald brooch, which was in turn framed by the stiff leather collar and shoulderpads of a dark grey, open-fronted, ankle length longcoat.

The cloth of the coat was painstakingly embroidered with whorls and fractals symbolizing gods-knew-what, and trimmed with what appeared to be genuine _spun gold_. A pair of belts encircled the Hunter’s waist, presumably to prevent the longcoat’s hem from flapping too violently in heavy winds.

Additionally, for no apparent reason beyond fashion, a long, leathery half-cape dangled from his left shoulder almost to the bottom hem of the coat itself.

Under the coat, Ozpin could _just_ see a partially unbuttoned tunic, and over the sleeves Cadfan wore his sole piece of armor: a pair of eerie, silver scaled, clawed gauntlets.

His pants were perhaps the least adorned part of his outfit, and we're all the more striking for it. Ozpin recognized them as a sort of garb popular among certain sects of Mistralian monks: _hakama_ , pants that billowed out much wider than the wearer’s legs and were tucked in snugly beneath whatever footwear they were being worn with, usually specially treated shoes that aided stealth.

As for _Cadfan’s_ footwear...his shoes were just as minimalistic as the _hakama_ that were tucked into them. A pair of well worn, heavy-duty leather boots protected his feet.

Though his clothing certainly gave him a regal air, this was rather overshadowed by his natural presence. Cadfan had a palpable, weighty aura of lethality and easy power Ozpin had only felt the like of in two other people. The first was of course his hated enemy, the Witch of Destruction, the Mother Grimm. **_Salem._ **

But the other? That woman...she'd been a strange one, to be sure. Speaking of castles shrouded from eyes and mind by blood most foul, of a bloodline forsaken and powers unwillingly inherited. But as strange as she was, her power was undeniable.

_'My, my. It's been almost five centuries since I thought about_ her _. But seeing these things, learning bits of Remnant's ancient past, and how it was steeped in Eldritch blood… Forgive me, Edelweiss. I should have tried harder to find you, to find this..._ Cainhurst _.’_ Ozpin's fingers twitched, seeking his absent weapon out of nervous habit.

All of the a sudden, a noise sounded loudly in the quiet chamber, the sound of metal striking metal. Ozpin's head snapped around, and he saw that Cadfan was now holding two curved daggers, ones that seemed to gleam with starlight even though they were deep underground.

As the Headmaster looked on, Cadfan tossed the blade in his left hand in a lazy arc towards the blade in his right. With a barely-perceptible twitch of his wrist, the blades connected with a click, folding together to make a wider blade reminiscent of a leaf.

“It's been a while... old friend.” Cadfan's voice was barely a murmur, but something about its unearthly quality made it stand out starkly, especially in this quiet.

With a smooth roll of the wrist born of countless hours of practice, the weapon disappeared into Cadfan’s right sleeve. Ozpin started as a short pale shape scampered past him, clutching a large bundle to its chest.

The creature reminded him slightly of the being he'd been... _tested_ against, albeit at a much smaller scale, and with a number of limbs that would be normal on a human. Perhaps an offspring?

Cadfan accepted the bundle, unwrapping a layer of cloth to reveal a large, weathered sword. Other than its apparent age, and the fact that it seemed to be made of stone, the weapon seemed unremarkable to the plain eye.

When Ozpin externalized a bit of magic for sensing, however… Well. Suffice it to say that any blade ancient enough to _develop its own Aura_ was no ordinary weapon.

Ozpin had heard the theories, seen the experiments, but he'd figured if Kaladanda couldn't develop an Aura, it wasn’t possible. After all, the cane had been with him in some shape or form since he was the Wizard, and that had been several millennia ago now.

For once, Ozpin was pleased to be proven wrong.

Ozpin peered into the soul of the weapon, and witnessed something approaching infinity. A brilliant starscape of familiar aquamarine light, the very same shade that the crystal of the Lattice had been made up of.

Ozpin could have stared into that gleaming, mournful microcosm for the rest of his days, had he been so inclined. Thankfully, the Headmaster was made of sterner stuff than most, and was able to wrench free of the mesmerising vision.

As Ozpin returned to himself, he felt two powerful and deep emotions radiating from the core of the sword’s soul: sorrow and hope. The Headmaster couldn't begin to guess at what events that weapon had born witness to, what conflicts had stained its slate-grey blade red, but he knew this much: there were things that could be learned from the blade, if only he could converse with it.

“That sword of yours,” Ozpin mused conversationally, “there's more to it than meets the mundane eye.”

Cadfan nodded, a sparkle coming to his eye. “You _are_ a perceptive one, are you not? Well, as I cannot leave this tomb until the Messengers have collected everything for transport, shall I regale you with the tale of Ludwig the Holy Blade, of the Healing Church, and his namesake, the Holy Moonlight Sword?”

-x-x-x-

Queen Annalise glared at her guest. Since her head was imprisoned in a helm of metal and Arcane trickery, her guest couldn't have seen the glare even had she retained her eyesight, but the cloaked woman flinched under its weight all the same.

Taking a moment to center herself, the monarch of Cainhurst breathed deeply. The immortal didn't _need_ to breathe to survive, but deep breaths helped her maintain an even temper all the same. “Child, I _know_ you recall Our last conversation with you. It's simply not _safe_ for you to leave. If you simply allowed Us to—”

Impudently, Annalise’s guest interrupted her, tucking a strand of short black hair behind her ear. “And I know _you_ recall my answer to your offer. You saved my life and gave me shelter, and I'm thankful for that. But I _can't_ trust someone who holds me prisoner.” A pained expression twisted her face. “There are still things I need to do; I can't stay here any longer!”

The Queen’s eyes widened behind her mask as the blind woman withdrew a weapon from beneath her cloak. Even as the silent spectral knights that guarded her throne rushed towards her guest-turned-assailant, the edge of the saber was at her throat.

Summer Rose glared at Annalise with eyeless sockets. “I am done asking. _Let. Me._ **_Go.”_ **

* * *

**AN: Well, I was struck by an unprecedented amount of inspiration the past couple of days, and got this done much earlier than usual. So...surprise? Anywhoodle, as always I offer my thanks to Slavok and Teninshigen for their editing/buffing prowess, and I thank** **_you_ ** **, reader, for reading this fic.**

**I hope you all enjoy!**

**Edit: I forgot that Queen Annalise speaks using the royal 'we', so I went back and altered her dialogue slightly. It's a very minor thing, but it's best to be precise with these things.**


	5. Chapter 4: Birthright

Chapter 4: Birthright

_ After Eileen and I parted ways, I moved on to explore the Cathedral Ward in earnest. _

_ Other than the withered man inhabiting Oedon Chapel (whose social ineptness was as bad as my own), there were no friendly faces to be found. _

_ After fighting through masked churchmen and fleeing from towering, axe-wielding giants, I found my way to a sealed door bearing a note. _

Within the journal, a worn piece of parchment is preserved. It reads, “This town is long abandoned. Hunters not welcome here.”

_ With trepidation, I opened those doors. After all, Gehrman had told me something of importance lay beneath, in his own roundabout riddlesome manner. _

The next few lines are shaky, but legible.

_ He was right, but what he referred to was not the important thing I found.  _

_ That man… _

_ Djura… _

_ Once he found that I was not hostile, he imparted a great deal of knowledge to me. _

_ None of it was pleasant. _

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I   
Circa 0 M.F.   
(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

Annalise, the Undying Monarch of Forgotten Cainhurst blinked, genuinely shocked at a weapon being leveled at her. Her surprise lasted for the barest instant before her eyes narrowed, her glare piercing Summer Rose. 

Indeed, in spite of her sightlessness, in spite of the mask that obscured the Queen's face, in spite of  _ her _ being the one in the superior position (as far as she could tell, anyways), that single glare held such weight that Summer felt as though  _ she _ were the one with a blade at her throat.

With words as sharp as the blades her knights carried did the Queen berate the woman who was, in her eyes, one of her subjects (albeit a particularly unruly one). “You are lucky that We are in such a fine mood this day, else your threat upon Our person would be met with merciless retribution indeed!” 

As Annalise finished speaking, she shut her eyes for a moment, her nostrils flaring slightly as she regained her equilibrium. Simultaneously, the Queen raised a forestalling hand towards the phantoms that had focused their deadened eyes upon Summer. 

The blinded Huntress was once more reminded of how lucky she was to have a Semblance like hers, one that  _ by necessity  _ included a sort of soul-based sonar, giving her a mental map of her surroundings within a certain radius of her. Otherwise, she’d have been completely incapable of even traversing Castle Cainhurst safely, nevermind stealing this blade and accosting Queen Annalise with it.

The phantoms though...Summer shivered. The way they’d registered on what Tai had dubbed her Soul-nar had been... _ unnerving _ . 

The white-cloaked woman shook her head. Annalise had managed to regain her center, and was now addressing her sternly.

“Lower the blade of Our knight, child. Nothing you could do to Us, no injury you could inflict upon Our body would be anything but an  _ annoyance _ . Such is the proof of Our sovereignty, Our right to rule.”

Quick as lightning, the Queen’s hand snaked up and wrapped around the blade hovering at her jugular. Even as the razor-sharp edge of the saber dug deeply into her palm, Annalise’s face remained impassive. “If you leave Our kingdom as you are, atrophied and wounded in body and soul, _you_ _will die_. We _refuse_ to allow another one of Our subjects to be stolen from Us by some upjumped _pretender_ queen who believes her blood entitles her to a kingdom.” With a pale hand that bled dark, nearly black blood, Annalise pushed the blade aside. Summer registered a metallic scent wafting from the wound, one far too sharp to be normal blood.

“We could go on for hours about the rights and responsibilities of a monarch, about noblesse oblige and duty to Our subjects, but now is not the time. That blackened witch who calls herself Salem has already stolen from you your sight and your birthright, to say nothing of all the time with your family that you missed! Leaving here weakened and with scarcely a plan—your daughters have already grown up without their mother; rushing forth now would only serve to ensure they never see you again!”

Summer’s face contorted in confusion.  “What do you mean?” Summer asked, letting the point of bloodied saber in her hand droop to point at the floor. “It can't have been more than a few weeks since I woke up…”

“You have been conscious for fifteen days,” Annalise agreed with a slight nod, “However, the theft of your Eyes was not simply a physical wound you had to recover from. There was a festering wound in your soul, a rent torn by the merciless pillaging of your birthright. Such a thing should have, by all rights, killed you.”

The Queen withdrew a deep crimson handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the rapidly-closing wound on her hand, speaking as she did so. “Fortunately for you, it is Our responsibility to take care of Our subjects, so We sent one of Our phantom knights to bring you here.” Annalise set aside the soiled handkerchief and folded her hands.

The Vileblood Queen’s voice turned somber.

“That was ten years ago. Our abilities are vast, but the arts of the Vileblood are inherently self-centered. The most We could do was coax your own blood into fortifying your soul until such a time as it was recovered.”

The implications of Annalise’s words struck Summer like a hammerblow. The noise that resounded through the throne room was no hammerblow, but in that deep silence? The painstakingly forged metal of the Rakuyo sword striking the cold stone could’ve woken the dead.

…

If not that, then the heart wrenching sobs that echoed forth from the throne room surely would have.

-x-x-x-

Heads bowed and ears open, Ozpin and Oobleck sat enraptured by Cadfan’s tale.

“...and, though corrupted by blood and Arcana and driven mad by the shade of a half-devoured god, Ludwig was an opponent unlike any other that I faced. Even as a twisted, accursed abomination, his skill with a blade was without peer. But...as with all my foes, he fell eventually. In his dying breath he asked me if the Healing Church had become the beacon of justice that he’d wanted it to be.”

Cadfan bowed his head. “I hadn’t the heart to tell him the truth. Thus, Ludwig the Holy Blade passed from the world, finally at peace, bequeathing to me his weapon. Such was the end of a legend.”

Ozpin let out a breath he didn’t know that he’d been holding. “That...I would not wish such an ignoble fate upon my worst enemy.” The Headmaster gestured vaguely to the weathered blade balanced upon Cadfan’s lap. “But what has become of this shard of a god?”

Cadfan rose, flipping the blade to a reverse grip and sheathing it beneath his cape at his back. “As near as I can tell, the fragment of the Dark Sun’s consciousness faded from the blade as Ludwig fell to madness. All that remained by the time I came upon it was the raw power of Divine and Arcane moonlight.”

Cadfan gave a humorless chuckle. “A good thing, too! Had I been subject to the whispers of a tortured god at that time, I would surely have ended up worse off than Ludwig, and in less time.”

The Good Hunter strode to a wall of the ritual chamber and laid his gauntleted palm upon it. Light began to seep from between his splayed fingers. “After I became the Lattice, though…”

Cadfan’s finger blurred into motion, sketching a trail of cold blue flame in its wake. When his hand stilled and pulled back, a gleaming rune was revealed, spun from mournful starlight and hanging in the air before the wall. Three parallel, vertical lines, crossed by a curve not unlike a macabre grin.

For a moment,  _ Power _ flooded the air. 

Then, the wall twisted into itself, spacetime roiling in tandem with Ozpin’s stomach before it parted. Once the Headmaster’s nausea had passed, he beheld an impossible path to the clearing he’d entered from, and all was still.

Cadfan calmly strode up the Formless Corridor, Isolde, Oobleck, and Ozpin following in his wake. Once they exited the tomb, the four stepped into that quiet, moonlit clearing, full of white chrysanthemums and white camellias.

Upon reaching the center of the copse, which was now covered in a light mist, Cadfan stopped. He turned to face Ozpin and Oobleck and said, “The little ones have gathered everything of importance, so once we leave I will bury this place permanently. Best to not let people less prepared than you and yours stumble upon the Lattice by happenstance.”

Ozpin nodded readily; he’d intended to suggest such a thing himself. Doctor Oobleck, however...the pained look upon his face told clearly how conflicted he was over this course of action. Before Bartholomew could voice his thoughts, a howl pierced the tranquility of the night.

The chilling ululation was soon joined by countless others, a veritable choir of damned souls and demons. Eyes like brimstone opened all around the edges of the clearing, and growls echoed from all sides.

Cadfan ignored all of these noises, continuing to speak instead. “Do not worry, however. All the knowledge I possess of the times leading up to my stint in the Dream were recorded in books—thanks to my dear attendant.” Cadfan smiled fondly at Isolde, even as one of the Grimm in the shadows decided that Cadfan’s passivity was a sign of weakness and leapt for his exposed back.

It did not even have time to realize its folly. Neither Ozpin nor Oobleck had noticed, but the light mist swirling in the clearing wasn’t mist at all.

It was an aura of starlight, exuded from Cadfan’s very being, and as the Beowolf leapt through the air, a blazing star was born from the Arcane mist, slamming into and through the Beowolf’s mask as though it were paper.

In the next instant, a hundred such stars arced from the clearing into the woods, annihilating the vitals of every Grimm they touched. All the while, Cadfan made not a single movement, instead content to simply stand with his back to the carnage, praising Isolde for her diligent record-keeping.

Ozpin, on the other hand, was lost in thought. He left aside for the moment his confusion as to why the Grimm has changed their tune so quickly (he suspected that it was due to Cadfan’s consciousness and powers being shifted to a weaker form, but he could not be sure).

If he was not mistaken, Cadfan had unconsciously responded to being under threat and his power had reflexively destroyed the threat with  _ extreme _ prejudice. That wasn’t something that could be taught; it spoke of extensive experience born of many battles.

If Cadfan’s current appearance was indicative of how old he was when he’d become the Lattice...then his life must have been one of ceaseless battle from the moment he could swing a weapon. No life for a man as young as he.

Slowly, steadily, an idea began to form in Ozpin’s mind. A way he could both put Cadfan’s powers to good use against  _ her _ and give him something of the life that Ozpin assumed he’d missed out upon. 

For the first time in quite a while, Ozpin allowed himself to feel a shard of hope. With any luck, Cadfan was the sort of force Salem would have no counter for.

-x-x-x-

After a while, the violent sobs wracking Summer Rose’s body slowed, then ceased altogether. Only then did she become conscious of the slim, cold arms awkwardly encircling her shoulders. Annalise had left her throne for the first time in a long while, to embrace a mother grieving for a decade lost from her daughters.

Through their contact, Summer could feel the tension in Annalise’s muscles. Annalise’s discomfort was easily palpable, and when the Queen felt Summer’s sobs quiet, she released the blind huntress as quickly as she could while maintaining the decorum and poise of a monarch.

Annalise returned to her throne, sinking into it as though the past several minutes had not occurred. Resting her chin on a fist, the Queen spoke. “We will not force you to take on Our blessing; to do so would be a violation of your very soul.” She waved a weary hand at Summer. “That said, you would not be safe on your own without either a guard or the protection of the Vileblood. Your arts of the soul may be mitigating your atrophy somewhat, but your strength is a mere fraction of what it was before your maiming.”

Summer opened her mouth to protest, but Annalise raised a finger. “Fear not, my child. Our one true Knight will surely come to Us once We have sent him a summons, and he is a being We are more than pleased to entrust with the care of one of Our precious subjects.”

Summer folded her arms, then asked irritably, “Why do you insist on referring to me as your subject? As a Huntress, I am pledged to no Kingdom or government, especially not an invisible castle staffed by errant spirits and ruled by an enigma. I am pledged to humanity and my family alone.”

“Well, dear one, there is your answer,” Annalise said calmly. “For anyone with the blood of Cainhurst in their veins is Our subject, no matter how diluted or dormant their blood may be.” Annalise leaned forward on her throne. “Welcome to your ancestral home, Summer Rose. Welcome, descendant of Maria and Edelweiss. Welcome home, Lady of Eyes.”

* * *

 

**AN: I must apologize for the lateness of this chapter’s release; my past week has been...** **_trying_ ** **, to say the least. However, I believe I’m back in business, so to speak. As always, my fervent thanks go out to Teninshigen and Slavok for their work ensuring that my chapters are smoothed out. I hope you all enjoy!**


	6. Chapter 5: Rose

Chapter 5: Rose

_ Now, some of what Djura had to say did not come as a surprise to me; after all, one would have to be blind or mad to not see the similarities between some of the larger beasts and the twisted, mutated villagers that roamed Yharnam’s blasted streets.  _

_ I’d figured out that most, if not all, of the “beasts”, the things that were my “prey”, were beings that had once been people, and I mourned their fates. Nobody deserved such a cruel destiny, consumed by what I had believed to be a freak plague. _

_ I wish it  _ had _ been nothing more than a plague. _

_ The Healing Church. The seat of the vaunted practice of Blood Ministration, the very thing that spared my life and invigorated my body... _ they _ were the source of this madness. The madness that had taken Gascoigne and Henryk, that Eileen the Crow told me would take every Hunter in time… _

**_It was their doing._ **

The rest of the page is crumpled and the text upon it is illegible. The next page continues in a rigid, tightly controlled script.

_ I need to know more. Before, I was simply trying to escape this nightmare, this ceaseless Hunt, but now? I have to see justice done, to reveal the sins the Church has committed, before _ my _ fate becomes that of Gascoigne, of Henryk, of every innocent civilian cajoled into partaking of this fell blood. _

_ I have to know. _

**_Why?!_ **

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I

Circa 0 M.F.

(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

The return trip to Beacon Academy was uneventful, thankfully. Cadfan had let some of the unearthly power caged within his mortal form radiate out around them, a replica of whatever emanation had shielded the ruins from the attention of even the youngest Grimm.

Ozpin had the presence of mind to call Glynda once they’d left the tomb, the entrance to which Cadfan had collapsed behind them. Thus, the Deputy Headmistress was prepared for their guests...or at least, as prepared as one can be for meeting a living Doll and the next best thing to a God incarnate.

Since Cadfan was making no effort to conceal his power, any amateur could spot that he was something special. Most civilians would probably just assume he was a Huntsman, but to a seasoned Huntress like Glynda Goodwitch? One might as well compare a campfire to a star.

The Hunter’s... _ Presence  _ (for nobody with any knowledge of the power of the Soul would mistake what Cadfan emanated for  _ Aura _ ) was  _ titanic _ . Indeed, the looming vastness that Goodwitch had been able to perceive long before the party had even arrived on school grounds felt like nothing so much as an oncoming hurricane...if hurricanes could be made of cool starlight and gentle sorrow.

Any doubts the Deputy Headmistress had harbored about the nature of their guest evaporated in the face of this sensation. Whatever he might look like, Cadfan Lloyd was neither human nor Faunus. 

_ ‘What  _ have _ we gotten ourselves into?’ _

-x-x-x-

Seeing how the blonde was stricken with shock by his power, Cadfan reined it in, compressing the vast storm of his Arcane energy into a pinprick of hyperdense light at his core. As it was now, he  _ should _ feel like an exceptionally powerful human, rather than a force of nature made flesh.

Cadfan walked towards the woman, hand extended. “As I believe Ser Ozpin informed you via the use of his... _ device _ , my name is Cadfan Lloyd.” The Good Hunter grasped her hand and shook it firmly. 

“Glynda Goodwitch,” she replied with a blink, shaking off her startlement and returning his handshake. “A pleasure.” The wary tone of her words belied her doubts as to Cadfan’s trustworthiness.

Cadfan did not take offense; the circumstances were  _ far  _ from ideal, and more than a fair measure of the blame for that lay at his feet. Even though his mind’s structure had been quite altered by his apotheotic metamorphosis into the Lattice, he still could have treated the guests to his sanctum with more decorum.

A desire to make up for his mistake and the debt he owed Ozpin for aiding him in becoming something approaching human once more; this was why he’d offered his aid to the old Sorcerer’s cause.

These thoughts and more swirled within Cadfan’s mind as the silver-haired man led the way to his tower office. Headmaster and Hunter alike knew that there would be things about this new world Cadfan would need to learn, this ‘Remnant’ that had formed from the ashes left in the wake of that last, perilous battle against the Moon.

So it was that Cadfan found himself seated at Ozpin’s desk, the scent of freshly boiled tea tickling his nose and the ticking of the massive gears hanging overhead lending an odd sort of tranquility to the place. A distinct contrast to the information he received in that office, to be sure. The first thing he learned about was Grimm, of mankind’s eternal losing war against the hordes of howling dark. 

He learned of the second species of people that now lived upon the world, these Faunus who were oft downtrodden and, in some parts of the world, treated as outcasts or lepers. This sat ill within his heart, not least because he suspected that the Faunus were descendants of the few bearers of the Beast Scourge that had managed to escape the madness of the Dream  _ and _ survive the ‘Moonfall,’ as Doctor Oobleck’s books and lectures had titled it.

Of course, Oobleck wasn’t the only one offering him information. While Ozpin had left the office, citing a need to contact other members of his circle, Glynda remained there and soon proved herself as knowledgeable as the good Doctor, simply about different, more esoteric subjects than history.

Thus, he was next taught of Aura, the shining aegis of the soul that every Huntsman and Huntress was expected to know the use of, and of Semblances, the very expression of that soul; a blazing comet of an individual’s potential hoisted as a torch of hope against the armies of ravenous ruin.

Finally, he was told of Dust, a mysterious crystalline substance containing the very wrath of nature itself, ready to be unleashed at the bidding of any wielder skilled enough to tease it from the raw crystal, or to be refined into ammunition, fuel, and propellant alike for Remnant’s technological marvels. Something about that description niggled at the back of his mind, and he made a mental note to ask for a sample of the substance after accommodations had been found for Isolde and himself.

Throughout the lengthy lecture, Isolde was content to sit and listen quietly. Unsurprising, considering how used she’d become to doing precisely that over the ten millennia they’d been buried in the depths of Lost Pthumeru, to say nothing of the indeterminate not-time for which she’d acted as a guide and aid to countless Hunters before Cadfan came along.

For Cadfan’s part, he too spoke little, offering only a few questions or requests for clarification, most of which were about Aura and Dust. Though, this was in part due to the blistering pace with which Bartholomew Oobleck managed to speak.

Cadfan would admit that the man’s manic pace (both in speech and in motion) was rapid enough to rival the speed of a particular pair of Hunters; one of the two he had called mentor, the other had died a second time on the blades of her own swords. As the bespectacled Doctor wound down from his lecture, the Good Hunter wondered absently if this rapidity was simply part of the man’s nature, or perhaps a side effect of his Semblance.

Regardless, such thoughts vanished from his mind upon hearing a sharp tapping noise on the window of the towering, clockwork office the four people were currently occupying. All four turned as one to the source of the noise, which was… a bird made of unnatural dark crimson blood?

While the other three people occupying the room were baffled by the being, Cadfan instantly recognized the particular coloration of the blood bird; after all, it was the very same color as the Vileblood that had flowed through him ever since he pledged himself to his Queen out of desperation. And she  _ was  _ still his Queen, even if he’d been absent in the cosmic infinity beyond humanity for quite some time.

As these thoughts were running through Cadfan’s head, the construct of Vileblood Arcana morphed from a crimson raven into a paper-thin stream, slipping through the small gap between the glass and the sill. Once reaching the inside of the room, the stream shifted once more, this time into a humanoid shape. A scent wafted through the room, a foul stench to Glynda and Oobleck, but a welcoming aroma to Cadfan. Isolde, being made of ceramic, chose not to perceive the smell upon seeing the way the two members of Beacon’s staff reacted.

Its limbs were thin and clad in the suggestion of a suit, the outline of its facial features sharp and narrow. Wordlessly, the specter of blood bowed and extended its hand to Cadfan, a letter held in it with care, pristine and unmarred in spite of the nature of the construct that had carried it.

With one hand Cadfan accepted the letter, sealed with the familiar heraldry of Cainhurst, two emaciated beasts rampant and back to back. With his other, he plunged his hand into the torso of the construct, eliciting a sharp inhalation from Oobleck and a gasp from Goodwitch. The Hunter inhaled deeply, the crimson form of the Cainhurst Courier becoming a blood mist and entering his lungs. He shut his eyes as the rich, earthy aroma became pure rapture, as the blood of his Queen mixed with his own once more.

To a Vileblood, these summons were nothing more than a formality – but then, the Vilebloods placed a great deal of weight on their formalities. The message contained within the envelope would tell him the basics of what he needed to know, certainly, but the memories contained within the blood of his monarch gave him  _ so _ much more. 

His lips curled with the same scorn that hers had upon meeting with the Pretender Queen.

He felt in his grasp the same Arcana his Queen had used to shield Castle Cainhurst from the eyes of the new world.

He witnessed the phantom knights she’d raised from the blood of her deceased subjects, that she would not have to endure the crushing solitude.

His heart swelled with the same wonder she’d felt upon learning that—

Cadfan’s eyes snapped open. Lady Maria, and by extension, his liege Queen Annalise had living descendants?! A mother, blinded by the forces of the Witch of Destruction herself, and a daughter who knew nothing of her beloved mother’s survival?

_ This could not stand. _

His oath to his Queen notwithstanding, he owed it to the Mistress of the Astral Clocktower to make sure her descendants were safe and alive; he’d not been able to resolve his confrontation with her peacefully, to his shame. 

His Queen had forgiven him for slaying her great-granddaughter, saying that what he’d killed was a shade of a memory, not her true family...but the fact remained that he’d taken her life, memory or not.

But even more important than his loyalty to Annalise, more important than his debt to Maria’s lineage,  _ there was a daughter out there who didn’t know her mother yet lived, and he had the power to fix that. _

A Hunter with hands stained by the blood of countless lives he may be, but even  _ he _ wasn't monster enough to sit by and do nothing in the face of that fact.

Cadfan turned to the Doctor and the Deputy Headmistress. “I apologize for the abruptness of this, but there is something I must attend to. Could one of you please retrieve Ser Ozpin? I believe he would be interested in meeting my Queen.”

Glynda frowned. “Since Headmaster Ozpin brought you here and into his confidence, I doubt very much that your Queen is Salem. But for the life of me, I can’t think of any other individual who that title could be attributed to…”

Cadfan smiled slightly. “The fact that you know nothing of her merely means that Her Majesty’s Arcana has done its work well. As for who she is?”

The Good Hunter’s very being seemed to become more animated, more  _ alive. _ “My liege is none other than the Eternal Monarch of the Vilebloods, Queen Annalise of Forsaken Cainhurst. Her titles may be fearsome, but there is no one I would rather serve; Her Majesty is a truly honorable woman, to whom I owe my life.”

Cadfan smiled sheepishly, suddenly embarrassed by his own fervor. “My digression aside, I  _ do _ believe that Ser Ozpin would like to meet her. Meeting a fellow immortal isn’t precisely a common occurrence, yet here he will have met three others in one day, should he accompany me.”

The Deputy Headmistress glanced between Isolde and Cadfan, then let out a sigh, muttering something about ‘eccentric immortals’ and ‘extra work’ under her breath. The blonde then adjusted her glasses as she withdrew another device like the one Ozpin had used, presumably to contact him in the same manner as the Headmaster had her.

Sure enough, about a minute after Glynda had tapped out a message on the device, Ser Ozpin returned to his office.

The silver-haired reincarnate regarded Cadfan with a curious and measured stare. “My Deputy has told me something rather interesting – namely, that you neglected to inform me that your fealty was pledged to an  _ immortal Queen _ . Now, I won’t claim to have told you everything about myself, and I didn’t anticipate that you’d shared every about  _ yourself _ , but this? This is a fairly significant thing; tell me, will this cause you to come into conflict with the cause I fight for?”

Cadfan inclined his head; this was a reasonable concern. “I assure you, that couldn’t be further from the case. Her Majesty is an extremely reclusive monarch, and requires little of her subjects beyond that we follow a few edicts. I can recite them to you, if you like?”

At Ozpin’s nod, Cadfan spoke.

“Firstly and most important, we must  _ never _ pass on the Vileblood without consent from the receiver. To do so would be as profound and foul a violation as can be conceived, quite literally a rape of the soul.

“Secondly, we must not spill blood without need. As beings who can subsist upon and draw power from the substance, we must revere and respect it, and likewise the lives from which it stems.

“Thirdly, when we  _ must _ spill the blood of people, we dedicate that kill to our Queen’s honor. Therefore, we must not fight in such a manner that impugns upon that honor. A clean, quick kill is both demonstrative of the skill of a Vileblood and the epitome of the creed that Queen Annalise demanded, which is detailed in the fourth edict.

“Fourthly, and finally: ‘Nobility obliges. Whoever claims to be noble must comport themselves nobly.’ It is our duty and responsibility as Vilebloods to treat those who bear normal blood not as lessers or as food, but as  _ people _ .

“Obeying those edicts is all that Her Majesty required of her subjects, of  _ me _ .” Cadfan cupped his chin. “Honestly, I think that all my Queen wanted of me beyond that was company. It cannot have been easy, being bound to a throne and imprisoned in an iron mask inscribed with Runes that limited her power and kept her prisoner in her lonely castle. Her only company there was dozens of eroded statues and a massive enchanted corpse serving as both warden and tormentor, after all.”

Throughout this explanation, the Headmaster of Beacon remained silent. The silent moments after seemed to stretch into infinity before he spoke. “Vilebloods... Not a particularly pleasant-sounding name, to be sure. However, this Queen Annalise’s edicts seem sound, especially for a woman who, by your descriptors, seems to be a vampire Queen in all but name.”

Ozpin drummed his fingers on the side of Kaladanda as he thought. “Very well. Today seems to be a day of strange meetings and stranger allies, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about this Queen of yours – especially how she’s remained undetected for all these years…”

The Headmaster nodded decisively to himself, then inquired, “Am I to assume that you have the means to take us there, perhaps in a similar fashion to the way we exited those ruins?”

Cadfan nodded. “The uses of Caryll’s Runes are many and varied, particularly when wielded by one such as I. A Vileblood, a Paleblood,  _ and _ a Great One, fledgling or no? This will be a trivial task,” he replied, though honestly he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to assure Ser Ozpin.

Cadfan raised both of his hands before and above him, his index fingers aglow with pale aquamarine fire. With grand, sweeping motions the Hunter inscribed the Vileblood’s symbol, the Rune of Corruption upon the world.

First were two curves, meeting at their tops and bottoms, coming together to form an oval-like shape with pinched ends. Then came a pair of upward-sweeping, almost winglike shallow curves, rising from the bottom of the shape to a symmetrical low point on either side of the not-oval.

Beneath this odd shape, Cadfan repeated the inscriptions twice more apiece, albeit at a smaller scale each time. Finally, he made one more looping, pointy not-oval, but instead of adding the ‘wings’ to the bottom, he twisted the ends of the curves around one another. 

Bizarrely, Cadfan grasped the two largest ‘wings’ and began to push. To Ozpin and Oobleck’s minor shock and Glynda’s major shock, space itself began to push inward, parting slowly along the center of the Rune, as though the ‘wings’ the Hunter had taken hold of were the handles of a particularly large and heavy door. 

Ozpin could see a bit of landscape through the slowly opening crack in reality, and he abruptly wished he had his  _ good _ scarf; the Castle Cainhurst was snowbound.

Cadfan made a sweeping motion toward the open ‘door’ with one hand, enjoying the opportunity to be a bit dramatic. “Welcome, Ser Ozpin, to the Forsaken Castle, the Seat of Corruption, the House of the Damned. Welcome to Castle Cainhurst, my home away from home. In spite of its titles and rather harsh weather, it’s quite the friendly place...to those with a Vileblood escort, that is.”

With that, Cadfan walked over to Islode, grasped her ceramic hands tenderly in his, and promised to return soon.

The Good Hunter then strode through the opening, Ozpin running a hand through his hair before following along. Before he crossed the threshold, he turned to Glynda with a plea in his eyes. Without even being asked, his Deputy nodded and walked over to his teapot. He’d be needing a hot drink upon his return, no doubt.

After the Headmaster followed Cadfan through the portal, he made it about a half-dozen steps before he heard a loud  _ clunk  _ behind him. When he turned back to the portal, it was gone. 

Before the Headmaster could even ask, Cadfan spoke up. “If I’d kept it open much longer, it might have jeopardized her Arcana – and from what I understand of your technology level (which is admittedly not as much as I’d like), I’d assume that a massive castle and island literally materializing in the middle of a peninsula would not go unnoticed.”

Ozpin let out a dry chuckle, even as he shivered, the cold already biting at his exposed face in spite of his potent Aura. “Indeed not. I’ll take it on faith that you have enough sense to be able to get us out of here.”

The Good Hunter let out a bark of what might have passed as laughter, if one was exceedingly drunk  _ and _ hard of hearing. “If I didn’t have at least that much sense, I wouldn’t have escaped  _ Yharnam _ with my life, never you mind become what I am today. Yes, I have multiple ways for us to leave, though one of them relies on Her Majesty’s guest…”

“Guest?” Ozpin queried, perhaps a bit more sharply than intended. “You made no mention of a guest.”

Cadfan winced. “My apologies. It has been... _ quite _ the day, but I don’t need to tell you that. I am also still acclimating to having such a... _ compressed _ mind again, which is an experience and a half, let me say. I shall do my best to remember these things, but I can make no promises until I have re-adapted to my current state.”

Ozpin nodded. The perpetual reincarnate hadn’t been through  _ quite  _ the same sort of thing before, but he could imagine that it was more disorienting than having to retrain a young, untrained body back to his exacting standards through Aura and memory alone.

“You have my sympathies,” Ozpin declared quietly as Cadfan led him through a copse of snowbound trees. Any words he might have said afterwards were lost as the Headmaster broke through the trees and caught his first glimpse of Cainhurst Castle. 

Ozpin was not a young man. The amalgamation of knowledge, experience and personality that had become a part of him so many years ago was far older still. He’d seen or could remember countless wonders and horrors alike, things of magic that defied reason and things of science that bent the laws of reality over its knee. More recently, he’d met beings of Cosmic might that were as utterly alien as they were terrifying.

Even so, after all he’d seen, there was something viscerally majestic and awe-inspiring about the massive, snow-clad form of Cainhurst Castle that took his breath away, even in its eroded state. Cadfan simply gave him a knowing look, one that conveyed the message ‘Beautiful, is it not?’

And it was. Frigid, imposing, and imperious and all the more beautiful for it.  _ ‘If  _ this  _ is the castle,’ _ Ozpin marveled,  _ ‘the Queen must be great and terrible indeed.’ _

And Ozpin would soon learn that to be true, as Cadfan led him into the castle and through a series of hidden passages that he opened by smearing a bit of his blood on certain objects at various points, all of them displaying the same crest with the same two emaciated but otherwise unidentifiable beasts, back-to-back and rampant. He (correctly) presumed this to be the coat of arms for Cainhurst.

After several minutes of climbing spiraling staircases and trekking through cold stone passages, dimly lit and abandoned ateliers, dusty bedchambers, and silent libraries, Cadfan finally opened a passage that let in outside light. Of course, that meant it also let in the frigid northern air, but Ozpin had slowly managed to acclimate to the cold. 

…

In other words, he’d pumped his Aura with as much Fire-aligned magic energy as he dared, and was now both pleasantly warm  _ and _ exercising his magic in a way he hadn’t in several years. It was tiring, but  _ damn _ was it worth it.

Cadfan and Ozpin walked out onto a bridge, the ice and snow melting beneath Ozpin’s feet. Cadfan stopped before an archway that led into a raised, imposing structure. 

“This is the throne room,” the Good Hunter declared. “Her Majesty  _ may _ seem abrasive at first, but if you give her enough time, you will simply realize that speaking in the way she does is all she knows. Furthermore, she tries her very best to be a good Queen, which to her is indistinguishable from being a good person, because again, that is the only life she knows.”

Cadfan pinched his brow, trying to figure out how to phrase what he wanted to say. “What I mean is this, Ser Ozpin: treat Her Majesty with respect and decorum, and you both shall get along fine. I have faith in this much, at least.”

The Headmaster nodded. Compared to some of the wretched things he remembered having to do, treating a Queen with respect and not stepping on any proverbial toes was practically child’s play.

Of course, Ozpin didn’t know the identity of Queen Annalise’s guest...

-x-x-x-

A pair of shocked inhalations, followed by the clatter of a cane hitting the floor; a rapid rush of footsteps; and then the rustle of cloth as arms wrapped around her. The incredulous whisper in her ear, her name breathed as though speaking aloud would cause her to disappear.

The thumping of a heartbeat, the gentle pressure of arms around her, the warmth of being embraced by the man who was as a second father to her.

The scent of jasmine and mint, of dust and dirt, and of something old and unfamiliar.

All these things rushed through Summer Rose’s senses at once, very nearly overwhelming her, especially considering what she’d felt with her ‘soul-nar’.

Two massive signatures, one familiar, one not. One distinctly a mixture of Aura and Magic, one that felt much like the energy that slept within her ancestor (and wasn’t  _ that  _ revelation a kick in the pants) albeit in the same way a bonfire feels like the heat of the sun.

All thoughts of this alien energy were put to the side when Ozpin’s eyes fixed upon her, and in the next moment she found herself embraced.

Summer had never known Ozpin to be much for big, physical displays of affection, but considering the circumstances, she could understand his actions. As the Headmaster drew back from the awkward yet heartfelt hug, Summer noticed that the star wearing the shape of a man that had accompanied Ozpin — the one practically  _ radiating  _ that strange power — knelt before Annalise, who’d been looking at Ozpin and her with what seemed like amusement.

“My Queen,” came a voice–no, a Voice, for the energy present within those words transcended mere sound waves, “I fear I am long overdue for this reunion. Pray tell, what task can Your Knight complete to earn Your forgiveness?”

The masked Queen tapped her fingers against the arm of her throne. “We have a thought or two, O’ Knight of Ours. We know that you have ascended to the godhead, and walked back down that you might live as a man, for a time. We wonder what manner of powers you retain from your apotheosis, and We would ask if you could remove this blasted mask from Our head.”

“As you will it, Your Majesty.” The star-man’s brilliant energy writhed and crawled up one arm. That hand moved fast, faster than even her senses could track, and, in the next moment, eight shards of now-inert iron clattered to the ground around Annalise’s throne, seven of identical size and one twice as large.

Up until now, Summer’s senses hadn’t been able to let her see her ancestor’s features, probably due to whatever magic had been holding that mask together. Now, though...now she could see Annalise’s face.

…

It was frankly absurd how alike they looked. If Annalise’s hair were black and red rather than pale-grey, and her irides silver rather than crimson, Summer would’ve sworn she was looking at her mother in her prime. The same soft cheeks, slim nose, and raptor gaze...it seemed that the Queen had been right: the Vileblood ran true, no matter how diluted.

So lost in contemplation was she, the blinded Huntress missed most of the star-man and her ancestor’s conversation, only jerking back to the real world when Ozpin shook her shoulder.

“The Vileblood Queen has decided that any further conversation with her Knight or myself can wait until you’ve been reunited with your family, a sentiment a fully share, Miss Rose. They...I think they  _ really  _ do need you back.” Summer could tell by the tension in his frame that Ozpin was doing everything in his power to keep himself together. 

She was grateful; if he broke down, she doubted she’d be able to keep it together, and she  _ really _ didn’t need to have another crying fit today. Crying without eyes could get  _ incredibly  _ gross and messy if you weren’t careful.

Pushing  _ that _ unpleasant thought to one side, Summer approached the star-man, who had gotten to his feet sometime between her musings about Annalise’s appearance and her thoughts about Ozpin and tears filling up her eye sockets.

He turned towards her, the cloth mask he wore doing nothing to obscure his face to her senses. His face was narrow and his gaze hawklike and inquisitive. Between those piercing ice-blue eyes, his pale skin, and his head of snow-white hair, he could’ve passed for a Schnee with ease...were it not for the tentacles she could sense that were wrapped around his arms, legs, and chest. 

The fact that a person who looked so much like a member of one of the  _ least _ Faunus-friendly companies possessed such a useful Faunus trait was darkly amusing to her, though none of this explained what her ancestor had meant by her statement that he’d ‘ascended to the godhead.’

Summer sighed internally. She had a feeling she’d find out soon enough, whether she liked it or not. She was wrapped up too tightly in this ‘Vileblood’ business for it to go any other way, due both to circumstance and to blood ties.

One thing was for certain in her mind, however.

_ It was high time that she went home. _

-x-x-x-

Ruby Rose was usually an early riser; between the inordinate amount of cookies she consumed, her own hyperactive nature, and a Semblance that actively encouraged being energetic, this was no surprise.

However, not even  _ she  _ made a habit of waking up at  _ one in the morning _ . This past week, her sleep had been fitful, something her well-meaning but overly-protective sister Yang had mentioned a couple of times, but waking up like this was a first.

Just as the silver-eyed girl was about to roll over and try to fall back asleep, she heard a noise outside her house, a sort of faint  _ thump _ , like a door shutting. There weren’t any other houses around for quite a distance, so naturally she was concerned.

Ruby got out of bed, shook her red-tipped, brown hair out of her eyes, and reached under her bed for her baby. Taking her weapon in hand, Crescent Rose’s default form of a close range bolt-action rifle being the best choice for inside her house, she crept from her room on silent feet. 

Since she was still in combat school, all her ammo was training rounds. They could probably kill a squirrel or a particularly anemic dog, but the most they’d do to a person would be to hurt them. Granted, these  _ were _ training rounds from a weapon designed to fire rounds that could reliably tear a Grimm in half, propel her around the battlefield, or change her direction mid-Semblance, so they’d still hurt  _ quite _ a lot, which was perfect for her purposes.

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe it was confidence in her own skill, or maybe it was some connection between mother and daughter. Whatever the case, instead of waking her father or sister, Ruby made a silent beeline to the door of their quaint little house, arriving just in time for the rap of knuckles on the doorframe to cause her to leap a full foot in the air and almost drop her baby.

To her credit, the young Huntress-in-training recovered at a remarkable speed, and trained Crescent Rose’s barrel on the door with one hand, bracing it against her abdomen. The other hand slowly opened the door…

Crescent Rose hit the floor with a  _ bang _ that could’ve woken the dead...and  _ did  _ wake the house’s other occupants. Ruby wasn’t thinking about any of that, though.

No, the only thing going through her mind at that moment was the very word that came out her her mouth in a small, hopeful voice.

_ “...Mom?” _

* * *

**AN: Well. It took me longer than I’d have liked to have finished this, but here’s the next chapter. The ball is finally starting to roll, and soon our  favorite ancient, crystalline, tentacled eldritch horror will face his greatest foe yet:** **_human interaction!_ ** **:3**

**That aside, as always I must thank both Teninshigen and Slavok for their hard work making this look all purdy. I hope you enjoy!**


	7. Chapter 6: Patchwork

Chapter 6: Patchwork

_ Before I parted ways with Djura, he gave me a small badge. He told me that a compatriot of his was guarding the way down into the valley where the prize I sought was entombed, preventing the beasts from wandering down and being devoured. Upon showing this badge to him, I would be allowed to pass. _

_ I did so, and descended deeper into the depths of Old Yharnam, fending off humanoid beasts and massive werewolves alike (thank the stars that these poor souls still retained the primal fear of fire common to us all). After some time, I reached a church in a valley. Inside? _

Here the handwriting becomes a bit thinner and more jagged.

_ I don’t know  _ what _ that beast was, but it was after my blood in earnest. The damned thing looked to be starving, and its back was flayed down its very spine.  _

_ It wore its skin like a funeral shroud. Perhaps it was meant for  _ my _ funeral. That thing ‘killed’ me more than a dozen times... _

A few lines seem to have been written after this, but subsequently blotted out with ink. The next line is written very lightly, as though the author could barely muster the energy to drag the pen across the page.

_ When does it end? _

_ Gods, I’m so tired. _

_ I feel so… _

The remainder of the words on the page are written so lightly and shakily that they are completely illegible.

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I

Circa 0 M.F.

(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

_ “You’ve grown up, Little Gem.” _

The moment Ruby heard these words, the moment she heard that voice, she knew. Wherever she’d been for all these years, Summer Rose had come home. She felt like she had just been hit by a truck that she had walked through like a ghost. This was a miracle, a wonder, a dream come true! No, it was a dream and nothing more, an illusion, a lie. The hope, the denial, the shock, the joy swirled within her heart, forming a self-negating storm that clashed against itself, cancelling itself out until she was left … empty. Ruby sank slowly to her knees, arms limp at her sides and facial expression flat.

“No, you can’t be her,” she mumbled, grasping for the one thing she knew for certain. “My mom’s  _ dead _ .” But even to her own ears the denial sounded hollow, a protest rendered false by the proof standing before her. Then she felt something once more, a glimmer of light within the darkness. 

Fear.

Ruby wrapped her arms around herself as she shivered. Little Gem? How could she have forgotten what Mom used to call her, back when they had been four, back when she had been small, back when she had been safe. ? No. How could she have remembered the perfect years, now that they were buried in the past? But they weren’t buried, not anymore. They were standing in front of her in her kitchen in a white cloak. 

And if … if Mom was back, then that meant … that meant that Ruby could lose her all over again.

Summer saw her daughter’s pain, just like she always could, and she crossed the space between them in a blur, enfolding Ruby in her arms, just like she always did. 

For a moment, Ruby let herself be held, and for that moment it was like Mom had never left. She opened her mouth to speak, to say, “You won’t leave me again, will you? You’ll still be here when I wake up?” But it came out as a wail, and she threw her arms around her mother and buried her head in Summers’s shoulder, sobbing loud enough to raise the dead.

Summer, for her part, simply cradled her daughter in her arms and began to hum gently to her, just like she used to.

It was this scene that Taiyang and Yang Xiao-Long were treated to when the pair of blond brawlers careened into the room. Yang, upon seeing the white-cloaked cloaked figure holding onto her sister, took a step forward, but froze when she saw Summer’s face. 

A myriad of emotions flashed across the her face as she found herself wanting to laugh and scream and cry all at once. Her eyes flickered red as she tried to take refuge, as she always did, in her own anger, but she couldn’t hold onto it. Not now. Not with Summer Rose, baker of cookies and slayer of monsters back from the freakin’ dead.

Taiyang, by contrast, had swept the room for hostiles with a practiced gaze, his blue eyes taking in the two men standing outside of his home, quietly watching the reunion from a distance. He recognized one of the men as Professor Ozpin almost instantly, and relaxed. Taiyang trusted Beacon’s Headmaster, and if the stranger was with Ozpin, he’d give the oddly-garbed man the benefit of the doubt. 

Finally, Taiyang slowly turned his gaze to the sight before him. To the vision that he almost dared not believe true. His wife, seemingly back from the dead, embracing their daughter. He swallowed thickly, then rasped, “S-Summer? Am I...are you really here?”

A pale hand rose and tossed back a white hood, revealing the previously shadowed face in full. Revealing Summer’s closed, concave eye sockets. Ruby and Yang gasped almost in unison, while Taiyang’s only reaction was a slight widening of the eyes. 

“I’m home, Tai,” Summer said quietly, rising and disentangling herself from her daughter, before walking slowly over to her husband and placing a hand on his cheek. “You’re getting fuzzy,” Summer commented absently, brushing her thumb over the small tuft of blond hair adorning Taiyang’s chin. 

Summer then turned to Yang. “And  _ you _ . You’ve gotten so beautiful, Sparky.” The white-cloaked Huntress held out her arms and pulled both father and daughter into a hug. While Taiyang reciprocated immediately, Summer felt Yang stiffen, then relax marginally and return the embrace. As she embraced the blonds, she felt another pair of arms wrap around her from behind and a face press into her back.

“I’m home _ , _ ” Summer repeated quietly, tears threatening to fall once more.  _ “I’m home.” _

-x-x-x-

Cadfan glanced away from the heartwarming reunion before him, meeting Ser Ozpin’s eyes. “I don’t suppose,” the Hunter wondered, “that we can leave them in peace, now can we?” 

The Headmaster shook his head. “Indeed not. As much as I would like to give them time to settle in and relax, I need to debrief Summer, to say nothing of the relative  _ certainty _ that they’ll be curious about you.” Ser Ozpin let out a weary sigh. “Hopefully we can get this over with swiftly, so they may have some time to themselves.” Left unsaid was the fact that the Headmaster was just as weary as Summer from the day’s events.

Cadfan’s hand came up to cup his masked chin as he hummed in thought. “The question then becomes, what do we tell her family, and what do we hide? While I find the act distasteful, I understand the necessity of deception when it comes for things like this. I presume your nature is a secret you don’t divulge to many, and the fewer who know about Great Ones, the less likely someone will stumble upon another entrance to the labyrinths and end up killing themselves.” 

Cadfan let his hand drop and extend outward, palm up and fingers upturned as though beseeching some higher power. “That said...it would sit ill with me to withhold from my Queen the opportunity to meet her other descendants, and I know that telling them nothing will not endear them to us in the slightest.”

The Good Hunter turned to regard Ser Ozpin. “What say you? These are your people, after all. I do not know the particulars of their relationship with you and yours well enough to accurately judge what should be done, and I am nominally your subordinate besides.”

Ser Ozpin narrowed his eyes fractionally in thought. “Hmm. In most circumstances I’d choose to tell them as little as possible; ‘three may keep a secret if two are dead’ and all that. But…”

The Headmaster leaned on his cane. “That’s simply not feasible in this case. Summer already knows about my ‘nature’ due to her Semblance. Taiyang doesn’t, but their other two teammates do, since I bestowed a bit of it upon them. As for  _ your _ nature…” 

Ser Ozpin’s eyes widened as a thought struck him. “As I mentioned earlier, the things you’ve told me about your Queen make me think of vampires. Perhaps we can play to that angle?”

Cadfan sighed as he stared into the house, eyeing the four embracing family members with not a small amount of wistful envy. “As good an idea as any I could hope to conceive on such short notice. Indeed, I have a thought as to how I might prove the ‘truth’ of my words, though it is gruesome indeed, not to mention quite disconcerting.”

The Headmaster eyed the Hunter warily. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

One corner of Cadfan’s mouth quirked up, though his slight smirk was hidden by his mask.

Before Ser Ozpin could press for details, a male voice, hoarse with emotion, called out to them. “Oz! You and your... _ friend _ ? Friend, colleague, whatever he is; the both of you can come in. I’m sure we’ve got a  _ lot _ to talk about.”

The immortal duo promptly did as they were bid, and quickly found themselves arrayed around a small table. 

Ser Ozpin took a seat opposite the burly blond man who had to be Taiyang, while Summer sat immediately adjacent to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Had anyone looked beneath the table at that time, they’d have seen the reunited couple’s hands entwined between them.

The two teenage girls who Cadfan presumed to be Summer’s daughters sat to either side of their parents; the older of the two beside Taiyang and the younger of the two beside Summer. While Taiyang had briefly brought up the idea of sending them to bed, he was overruled. Summer made her position clear: they had the right to know what had happened to their mother. Ser Ozpin refrained from speaking, though Cadfan suspected that the Headmaster would’ve supported Taiyang’s suggestion had the circumstances been different.

A determined Summer Rose was a powerful thing, it seemed.

Cadfan, his hat and mask now removed and set to the side on a countertop, leaned against a wall behind Ser Ozpin, taking a moment to study Summer’s daughters.

The most striking thing about the eldest was easily her hair. A veritable  _ mane _ of blonde locks cascaded down her shoulders, framing rounded facial features and drawing contrast to her lilac irises. The second thing Cadfan noted was her muscles. Her orange, sleeveless shirt allowed her to proudly display her toned, lean arms, and while her baggy grey pants offered no such insight into what her lower body looked like, the Hunter didn’t doubt that her legs were just as toned and strong.

This girl was either a warrior or a fitness fanatic, and based on her family, Cadfan was inclined to assume the former.

The younger daughter was the spitting image of her mother. Red-tipped brunette hair, a slender frame, and a cherubic, hopeful face? Were it not for the obvious age difference, Cadfan would’ve thought her Summer’s  _ twin _ . Though her arms weren’t nearly as toned as her sister’s, the weapon that now leaned against her chair—a scythe like his own, despite the countless gears in its design—told him all that he needed to know about her choice of careers.

She too was intent on following the path of the warrior.

As Cadfan finished mentally cataloguing his impressions of Summer’s daughters, Taiyang spoke. “Well, Oz? As overjoyed as I am to have my wife returned to me, I can’t help but wonder what the _hells_ _is going on.”_ While his tone started amicably, it gained an edge to it as his eyes narrowed. “I’m not stupid, Ozpin. I know there are things you’ve shared with Qrow, with Summer, with–with _Raven_ , that you haven’t shared with me. I don’t know what they are, and I don’t really care – _unless_ they put my family in danger.” Taiyang slammed the table with his unoccupied hand, and stared straight into Ser Ozpin’s eyes, his own blue orbs seeming to glimmer even as his voice became unnaturally raspy. _“Can you swear to me that they don’t?!”_

It was only visible for a moment, but as focused on the scene before him as Cadfan was, he couldn’t have missed it; the brief instant during which Taiyang’s pupils shifted from spherical to slits.

_ ‘Interesting…’ _

Ser Ozpin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed wearily. “I cannot swear that to you. However, most of that information is not relevant to Summer’s situation, and can be tabled for the moment.” The Headmaster’s fingers drummed the table idly. “Now. I think it’d be best to start at the beginning. Summer, can you recall who attacked you? I have my suspicions, of course, but you  _ were _ the one who was attacked.”

Summer lifted her head off of Taiyang’s shoulder as she considered the question. “It’s all a bit hazy, to be honest, but I  _ do  _ remember a rather large young man. He must’ve had some kind of pain-numbing or berserker Semblance, because he just shoved raw Dust crystals into his forearms.”

Ser Ozpin paled. “Hazel,” he breathed. “Hazel Reinart. I see.” The Headmaster shut his eyes for a moment, then exhaled. “Continue.”

“Well, he was  _ definitely  _ inexperienced,” Summer said, “but he made up for it with brute strength and a truly excessive amount of Dust, though I’m sure Glynda would’ve been  _ horrified  _ at how little what he did resembled proper Dust Sorcery.

“Even so, he wasn’t a match for me...on his own.” Summer rubbed her shoulder, a motion Cadfan recognized all to well. Feeling the phantom pain of wounds long-healed was something the Hunter was  _ quite _ familiar with. “I suppose that’s why he brought a backup.”

Summer shuddered. “The first man–Hazel, you said?—he was fairly calm until he used his Dust, but the second? He was as mad as they came, screaming that he’d ‘pluck out my eyes and offer them to his Goddess.’ As you can see—” Summer gestured to her face, “—he managed to follow through with that threat.”

All throughout Summer’s story, Cadfan had been keeping one eye on her daughters. Both of them had  _ very _ different reactions to their mother’s ordeal. The younger had turned slightly green, a look of mounting horror on her face, while the elder’s fists were clenched tight enough that they were trembling with the force of it. 

“After that,” Summer continued, “I assume they left me to die. That’s where you come in, since I assume you can explain  _ her  _ better than I can.” She waved her hand at Cadfan, who cleared his throat.

“Indeed. However, I seem to have taken leave of my manners; I’ve not introduced myself to you all.” Cadfan placed his right hand over the left side of his chest, and bowed lightly. “My name is Cadfan Lloyd. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances.”

“Taiyang Xiao-Long.”

“Summer Rose – but you already knew that.”

“The name’s Yang Xiao-Long,” the now-named blonde said with a toothy grin.

“I-I’m Ruby Rose.” The words practically tumbled out of the youngest girl’s mouth, her cheeks tinting slightly pink at suddenly being put on the spot.

Cadfan nodded. “As I said, it is a pleasure. Now, to begin  _ my _ part in this story – or rather, my  _ Queen’s _ part. You see—”

-x-x-x-

“—and then I brought Lady Rose here,” Cadfan finished.

There was a beat of silence, then Taiyang and Yang started talking loudly at once. Cadfan raised a hand, and when this was met with no regard, snapped his fingers, a spark of Arcane energy making noise  _ far  _ louder than it had any right to be. 

After everyone else’s ears ceased ringing, the Good Hunter cleared his throat. “One question at a time, if you please.”

He waved to Yang, who promptly asked, “What in the nine hells have you been drinking?! You expect us to believe that Mom was rescued by the ghost knights of her  _ immortal vampire grandma _ , and that the reason she didn’t come back was because she was in a coma from losing her eyes? The same eyes that are somehow linked to  _ Mom’s _ vampire magic, because apparently that’s a thing?!”

“I understand your scepticism,” Cadfan replied, “but I am prepared to offer proof that, if nothing else, I am immortal. Would that suffice to convince you that I am not simply lying through my teeth, as it were?”

Before Yang could reply, Taiyang spoke up. “I’ll be honest: I’m sceptical. But Summer hasn’t contradicted you once, and I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.” The burly man scratched his chin. “‘Course, if you’ve got proof, that’d help too.”

Ruby just nodded, seemingly content to let her father and sister’s words speak for her. 

Cadfan nodded seriously. “Very well then. I warn you, this display is not for the faint of heart. After all, there are few  _ clean _ ways to prove immortality. If you have a weak stomach, I advise you leave the room or turn away.”

After looking each of the three in the eyes, Cadfan exhaled. “So be it.” The Good Hunter extended his hand to one side and beckoned a Messenger with a thought. The familiar curve of a wooden haft pressed into his gauntleted hand, Taiyang, Yang, and Ruby looking on in amazement as he withdrew a wickedly curved scythe from thin air.

Their shocked amazement then swiftly turned to shocked horror as, with a single yank, the Burial Blade passed through Cadfan’s neck like a hot knife through butter.

There was a beat of silence.

Then the screaming started.

* * *

 

**AN: So, this came out much later than anticipated. The reason for this is simple: I found out my aunt died last weekend, and that made me feel rather off-kilter for the next few days. I’m sure you all understand. As always, I’d like to thank Teninshigen and Slavok for their assistance in making this chapter all pretty, and TheLonelyWillow for her everpresent enthusiasm regarding this story. I hope you all enjoy!**


	8. Chapter 7: Ties

Chapter 7: Ties

The next lines of the journal are sloppily written and thin, as though the writer put barely any effort into writing them...or perhaps as though they _couldn’t_ put more effort in than they had.

_After I left the burning ruins of Old Yharnam, I managed to find my way deeper into the Cathedral Ward. I had several close calls with those giants, and the masked clergymen that were likely their keepers. All the same, I eventually managed to fight my way to the cathedral._

_There, I saw a far more drastic and vile transformation than Gascoigne’s. There was a woman, dressed in the robes of the Healing Church and kneeling in prayer. When I approached her, her flesh_ **_erupted_ ** _. She grew to several times her original size, her hands becoming claws and her face elongating into that of a massive, horned wolf’s. From her body grew a cloak of feather-like fur that partially obscured her movements._

Inside the book was a rough sketch of the beast-woman the writer had described, with nearly illegible notes about how she fought and what to look out for.

_She killed me six times before I slew her in turn._

_After that, I touched the skull of a beast that sat upon the altar at which she prayed. The next thing I knew, I stood before a window peering into the past._

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I

Circa 0 M.F.

(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

As arterial blood fountained from the stump of Cadfan’s neck, the five other occupants of the room exhibited a set of drastically varied reactions.

Ozpin exhaled tiredly, palming his face; Summer frowned eyelessly in Cadfan’s general direction; Taiyang shoved his chair back from the table forcefully, his face turning a faint shade of green; and the two daughters of the Rose–Xiao-Long household started to scream.

Loudly.

Even as she and her sister cried out, though, Ruby Rose was in motion. The power of her soul burned a gorgeous red as she hurtled across the room to a cabinet, withdrew a roll of bandages with trembling hands, then threw herself at Cadfan’s headless body.

Even as one of Cadfan’s hands snaked up to snatch his head out of the air, his body staggered back under the force of Ruby Rose latching onto his torso, swiftly but sloppily attempting to apply bandages to his gushing neck.

“I can fix this! I can fix this! Stay with me!” Ruby babbled in a panic, desperately trying to staunch the veritable geyser of blood erupting from Cadfan’s neck even as her face paled even further from being in the splash zone.

“Miss Rose, please! Calm yourself!” Ruby yelped in shock as Cadfan’s severed head, dangling from his fingers by his now-stained white hair, addressed her. “Trying to bandage my neck will only slow the reabsorption of my blood. Please, stop.”

Even as he spoke, Cadfan allowed the Burial Blade to fall back into the space between realms populated by the Messengers. His now-free hand reached up and plucked Ruby from her awkward perch and set her down in front of him. Then, he plucked the bandages off of his stump and gestured.

All of the blood gushing from his neck froze mid-air, macabre jewels of darkest crimson suspended in time and space like a vile necklace upon reality itself. The blood that had already stained the walls and table (to say nothing of Cadfan and Ruby both) pulled away from where it had landed and joined the collection hanging in the air, a veritable microcosm of liquid crimson.

In the next moment, the room was filled with a wet sucking sound as every drop of Cadfan’s blood was drawn back into the stump of his neck.

Once all of the blood had been reabsorbed, a writhing, knotted mass of blood could be seen just beneath the edge of the wound, roiling and diving in and out of Cadfan’s veins and arteries.

The Good Hunter reached within his coat and withdrew a crimson handkerchief, which he folded and placed upon the table. Next, he set his head down on it with great care, then spoke. “As you can see, the severing of my head is barely an inconvenience. Indeed, even were I or my Queen reduced to nothing but pulp we would survive, though I doubt very much we’d enjoy the experience.”

“What the _fuck_?!” a white-faced Yang exclaimed, leaping to her feet and knocking over her chair in the process.

Cadfan blinked up at her from his position on the table. “I _did_ warn you that the demonstration of my immortality would be gruesome.”

Yang shook her head, wide eyed. “You’re really a fucking _vampire_ . A _monster_ that kills people and drinks blood?!” She clenched her fists, then swung them outward, her golden bracers unfolding into gauntlets, then making a _cha-chik_ noise Cadfan recognized as the cocking of a firing mechanism.

Before Yang could do more than ready her fists in a boxing stance, silver vines of glittering Aura erupted from beneath Summer’s cloak and bound her arms in place.

“Yang,” Summer said quietly but firmly, “Take a breath and _think_ . He brought me home to you guys; he’s _not_ a monster.”

Yang gaped at her mother. “Not a mon– _look_ at him! His head is on the table and he’s _fine_! He’s a goddamn vampire!”

“So?” Summer asked. “He’s been nothing but kind to us. He may _look_ like a monster, but he certainly hasn’t _acted_ like one.” She paused, then turned towards Cadfan, a sheepish expression on her face. “No offense.”

As one of his hands scooped up his head, the other waved dismissively. “Think nothing of it, Lady Rose. Today has been a trying one for all involved; I can scarcely begrudge you being blunt about my appearance under these circumstances.”

With those words, Cadfan grasped either side of his head and held it above the stump of his neck. The knotted mass of writhing blood ceased its motion for a moment. In the next instant, countless threads of blood shot across the narrow gap, weaving a sanguine tapestry as the severed flesh and bone were stitched together by a thread most vile.

As Cadfan’s head and body were reunited, a sound like the gnashing of a giant’s teeth filled the room, only to terminate in a loud _crack_.

“What was that?!” Ruby exclaimed, then reddening with embarrassment upon realizing how loud she’d been.

“That, Miss Rose,” Cadfan replied while massaging the back of his now-whole neck, “was the sound of my sixth and seventh cervical vertebrae being repaired.”

The Good Hunter then turned to regard Yang, who twitched at the attention. “I feel obligated to clarify something. Namely, the fact that we Vilebloods are _not_ the same as vampires of myth and fiction. Similar in some ways, certainly, but _not_ identical by any stretch of the imagination. The term is a convenient way of conveying the basic nature of our kind, but it is ultimately an oversimplification.”

Cadfan stepped backwards and rested his head against the wall. “Most notably, sunlight, garlic, ‘blessed’ objects, and religious paraphernalia are all utterly ineffective at killing or hurting us.” His hand reached up and brushed the underside of his ribs absently. “A stake through the heart is...an _irritant_ , certainly, but I challenge you to find anyone who _wouldn’t_ be at least inconvenienced by a piece of wood piercing their heart.”

Cadfan leaned forward, right forefinger raised. “A lack of the ‘traditional’ vampire weaknesses aside, while Vilebloods _can_ subsist on nothing but blood, we don’t _have_ to, nor does the blood we imbibe need to be that of a human or Faunus. We can live off animal blood, or even normal food and drink quite easily indeed.”

Yang stared at the Good Hunter, then exhaled. “I – I guess I overreacted. Sorry.”

Cadfan shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Worry not, Miss Xiao-Long. As I told Lady Rose, this day has been a trying one for all of us; I will not begrudge you such a reaction in the face of the possibility that your family was in trouble.”

Even as Cadfan was speaking, the silver vines binding Yang’s arms to her sides vanished, becoming little more than glittering mist. With a flick of her wrists, a shell was ejected from each of Yang’s gauntlets, which then retracted and returned to their bracelet form. The blonde’s hands snapped out and caught the shells at the apex of their arcs, then set them on the table.

 _‘If those weapons are any indication of how she fights, Djura would’ve liked her quite a bit, the mad old bastard.’_ Cadfan’s smile widened fractionally at the thought, then he pushed himself off the wall.

Ozpin rose in tandem with the Good Hunter’s movement, then cleared his throat. “Well, I think we can all agree that this has been an eventful and exhausting evening. That said, before we part ways for the night, I think that we ought to contact Qrow; I’m sure he would be quite happy to know that you’re alive, Summer.”

Summer nodded, then asked, “What about Rae? I guess she hasn’t come back, huh?”

Though phrased as a question, it was clear to all present that Summer knew the answer all too well.

Taiyang grimaced, then opened his mouth to speak…

And all hell broke loose.

“Ser Ozpin,” the Good Hunter snapped, his body as tense and taut as steel cables. “We are being watched!” In the same instant, his hand lashed out at a seemingly innocuous corner of the ceiling, a stream of blood erupting from his palm and hurtling into the shadows. A moment later, the dark crimson blood shifted colors drastically and solidified, becoming a chain of familiar aquamarine crystal.

With a mighty yank and the ungodly howling of spacetime being mutilated, a woman tumbled into the Rose–Xiao-Long family’s kitchen.

No sooner had her back struck the ground than she’d flipped to her feet with catlike grace. Her face was obscured by a bone-white mask adorned with crimson markings. Long, thick black hair cascaded chaotically down her back, and crimson eyes glared from beneath the mask.

Equally crimson was the armor adorning her body; thin, layered plates of blazing red metal overlapping and partially covering the black cloth of a tunic and skirt. Bizarrely, her shoes seemed to connect to a pair of pantlegs, reaching up towards her skirt but terminating low enough to expose a strip of her upper thighs–thereby offering easy access to her femoral arteries.

That said, even the bizarreness of her clothing paled in comparison to her... _weapon_ ? It _had_ to be a weapon, but damned if Cadfan could puzzle out what manner of blade was sheathed in that odd, cylindrical scabbard.

In the next moment, he found out, as the woman darted across the room towards him, a crimson katana blade flashing from the wide sheath and arcing at his throat. Cadfan’s arm came up smoothly, the silver edge of the combined Blades of Mercy slipping from his sleeve and sliding into his palm as he intercepted the strike.

Before the two could disengage, silver vines lashed across the room once more, twice as thick and thrice as numerous as they had been when last Summer had conjured them. They handily bound the masked woman’s arms and legs to her sides in the blink of an eye.

Cadfan lowered his hand, blade already safe inside his sleeve, then nodded to Summer. “My thanks, Lady Rose. I haven’t the slightest inclination to fight at this time of night, not if it can be helped at least.”

Summer gave no response, instead stalking toward the entrapped woman. She stopped in front of her, ran her hand over the side of the mask, then smiled beatifically.

In the next moment, Summer’s fist had shattered the mask and impacted the face beneath with sufficient force to send the woman slamming into the kitchen wall.

A vein throbbed on the side of Summer’s head as she grabbed the woman by the front of her tunic and began to shake her violently. “You _idiot!”_ Summer yelled, her voice thick with emotion and held-back tears.

Between the meteoric jab Summer had delivered and the violent shaking the woman was undergoing, it was little wonder that the thick ceramic of the shattered mask fell away, revealing a face.

A face near-identical to Yang Xiao-Long’s, if somewhat worn with stress and age.

Yang, Ruby, and Taiyang all stood frozen in silence, watching one mother, long thought dead, pull another, long known to have fled, into an embrace (and an uncomfortably tight one, if the look on her face was any indication).

Cadfan had nothing to say to this sight, so it fell to Ozpin to break the silence.

“Raven Branwen. It has been a while.”

* * *

**AN: Well, here’s the next chapter. I apologize for its lateness. Earlier this week my muse was consumed by by a new plotbunny (one that may well see publishing soon, at that), but later this week I found out that my cousin took his own life, and that threw me off kilter for a bit. But I’m recovering from that blow, not least because writing brings me joy and is a good distraction. Anyways, enough about my troubles! As always, I’d like to thank Slavok and Teninshigen for betaing and generally offering good advice. I hope you all enjoy the chapter!**


	9. Chapter 8: Resident

Chapter 8: Resident

_ “Fear the Old Blood.” This was the wisdom bestowed upon me by that vision of the past. I know not who Laurence and Willem were, nor do I know why they split from one another, but there is one thing I do know. _

_ They were right.  _

_ This blood, this tainted curse that pounds through my veins...with every kill, with every echo of lifesblood that flows into me from my fallen foes, I can feel my sense wane.  _

Here, the script on the page becomes shaky and difficult to read, parts of it smudged with what are assumed to be tears.

_ I don’t know what’s going on. I feel...so  _ cold.  _ Somebody...help me... _

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I

Circa 0 M.F.

(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

Raven’s eyes flashed with crimson hate as her head snapped towards Ozpin. Her lips pulled back into a snarl as she glared at the man who’d taken so much from her, who’d forced such a thankless burden upon her shoulders.

As much as she wanted to lash out at him, to show him just what it meant to try to  _ manipulate _ Raven Branwen, she held her anger in check.

“Ozpin,” she greeted flatly, no hint of emotion in her tone. Indeed, it wasn’t even truly a greeting, but rather an acknowledgement that he was present. Her gaze flicked sideways towards Yang and Ruby for the barest fraction of a second, then she spoke again, voice tight. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that  _ you’re  _ behind this.” 

Raven felt Summer tense against her, the embrace ready to become a restraining grapple at a moment’s notice if necessary. It rankled her to admit it, but Raven didn’t like her chances of beating Summer if it came down to a fight.

Even if Summer was considerably weaker than when last they’d met (that punch should’ve put her through the wall and launched her halfway to Patch’s shore), Summer’s real strength wasn’t her raw power. 

Power was … weak. Predictable. Power was a tool to be used in a fight, but could not be relied upon to do the fighting itself. Summer had taught her that over several cheerful, embarrassing lessons back in their Academy days. The woman had been considered one of the most skilled Huntresses in the world for very good reason, and while she had more than her fair share of might, her keen mind was what won her battles. 

The moment Summer set foot on a battlefield, she set foot inside the mind of her opponent. The longer she fought against a person, the more she could get a handle on who they were, and the more moves ahead she could plan. After fighting an opponent for long enough, the fight ceased to be a fight at all, and became little more than a one-sided chess match.

As for Grimm? The mindless ones may as well have been grass for all the threat they posed, and the ones old enough to think fell prey to the same trap as the people Summer faced.

_ That _ was what made Raven doubt her chances of victory. Raven had raw power and primal magic on her side, but Summer could look into her  _ soul _ .

Ozpin’s eyes fixed on her face, narrowed in consideration. After a moment, the Headmaster replied, “Hardly. As much as I would like to take credit for reuniting a lost mother with her children, I was not the one to do so.” Raven looked on incredulously as Ozpin shut his eyes and sighed wearily. 

_ Ozpin _ . Showing genuine  _ weakness _ . It boggled her mind. Raven’s mind raced as she tried to put together just what was going on. Eventually, her eyes snapped to the unknown man who’d seemed to  _ sense _ her portal, used what had to have been his Semblance to pull her through, and, to top it all off, had casually blocked one of her strikes with a blade scarcely larger than a knife. Granted, her attack hadn’t been empowered with her  _ other _ abilities, but the point remained.

This stranger was  _ dangerous. _

“Oh?” Raven replied acidly. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been all talk and no action.” Even as she spoke, she felt Summer’s iron grip on her tighten fractionally, as though in warning.

To Raven’s surprise, her statement was not met with much hostility. Ozpin seemed to sag, the true age of his soul visible on his face briefly. “I will admit,” Ozpin said wearily, “that I have failed more times than anyone could count, and that even when I have succeeded, I am never sure I did so in _the best possible way.”_

At this, Ozpin rose from his seat, placing his hands on the table and pierced her with a cold gaze sharp as steel and thrice as strong. “But know this, Raven Branwen. Everything _ ,  _ absolutely _ everything  _ I do is for the sake of our survival. I will not have  _ you _ , a  _ child _ who aimlessly plays Bandit Queen off in the woods instead of using your power to do good, pass judgement upon me for my failures.”

_There_ was the hostility. Raven bristled, pointedly ignoring the flash of primal fear that had flared within her in response to Ozpin’s glare. “You have _no_ _right—”_

“ _ ENOUGH!” _ Taiyang roared, his fist impacting the table with a bang as he rose from his seat, the suggestion of scales rippling across his knuckles for the barest moment. Ruby and Yang flinched even as Raven was reminded of just  _ why _ she’d chosen  _ Tai _ of all people as the father of her child.  _ ‘He might be a bumbling oaf most of the time, but when the sleeping dragon inside wakes up...it’s a sight to see.’ _

In the face of the Golden Dragon’s outburst, Ozpin and the stranger had two very different reactions. The old schemer blinked as though returning to his senses, inclined his head, and sank into his chair.

His associate, however…

Azure eyes gleamed with unearthly light as, for the briefest of moments, the man’s body became completely still. Raven was begrudgingly impressed at how near-instantaneously he slipped from being perfectly relaxed to a state of battle-readiness. Even more impressive was the absolute lack of bloodlust that his Aura had given off. The man’s soul remained perfectly tranquil the entire time.

Chest heaving, Tai turned his piercing, slit-pupiled gaze to Raven, his words interrupting her considerations. “Why, after all this time, did you decided to look in on us  _ now, _ Rae?”

Raven briefly debated refusing to answer, but there was little point, considering the situation. “You know how my Semblance works, Tai. I felt Summer’s portal reappear after all these years, so of course I looked in.” If anyone noticed the way Raven’s voice hitched slightly upon saying the elder Rose’s name, none commented.

At that moment, several things happened at once.

Summer pulled back from her restraining embrace to really  _ look  _ at Raven. 

Yang got to her feet and began to walk towards her mother.

Tai exhaled and let the dregs of his Semblance leave his flesh.

There was a loud, fleshy thump as a black shape impacted one of the kitchen windows.

And in the distance, a chilling series of howls pierced the night like a chorus of damned souls, each one successively closer.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Cadfan was on his feet before the first note of the howling had finished, his right hand reaching to the sheath at his lower back for the Holy Moonlight Sword while the Blades of Mercy dropped into his left from his sleeve in their composite form. He slung the massive blade carved of divine moonstone onto his right shoulder while he flipped the small blade of siderite into a reverse grip and let it hang parallel to the ground.

Before the Good Hunter could move more than a step, though, Summer was by his side, grasping his arm. It took a large amount of effort not to lash out at the woman instinctively, but he managed it, instead fixing her with a  _ look _ .

“Let  _ us _ take care of the Grimm, Mr Lloyd. It’s mostly our fault for attracting them, and it’d be bad manners to make a guest do the fighting.  _ Right, you two?” _

Taiyang and Raven both stiffened at the sickeningly sweet voice Summer had addressed them in, that same beatific smile on her face once more. Her husband nodded swiftly, moving to stand beside her, while Raven scoffed and looked away, rising to her feet and laying a hand on her blade’s hilt. She’d barely opened her mouth to retort when the front door was hurled open with a  _ bang, _ admitting a scruffy-looking man with black hair and red eyes. He had some sort of blade strapped to the small of his back, and a tattered red cloak hung limply from the folded collar of his shirt. His eyes widened as he beheld the white-cloaked woman before him, raising one hand shakily.

“... _ Summer?” _ the man whispered incredulously, before his eyes rolled up in his head and he toppled forward, fainted away.

Only Cadfan’s quick thinking saved the Hunter’s (for what else could he be) face from impacting the floor. A flick of his left wrist found the Blades of Mercy secreted away in his sleeve once more, while his now free hand flashed out and caught the fainted man under his armpit. A quick turn and a gentle shove later, his charge was slumped in the chair Cadfan himself had just vacated.

Taiyang blinked. “I’ve seen Qrow pass out drunk before, but I didn’t think I’d ever see him  _ faint.” _ His lips twitched as he held back a smile. “He’ll be  _ so _ embarrassed when he wakes up.”

Raven snorted, but refrained from commenting. 

After a moment, Cadfan spoke. “Lady Rose. I understand your desire to be the one to defend your home. However, even if my Queen would not have my hide for standing by while her precious descendant fights, _I_ would not be comfortable doing so.” His free hand reached up to his throat and pulled the worn cloth mask up over his nose, even as a fleshy tendril darted from beneath his coat and snagged his hat from where it sat off to one side, then dropping it into his outstretched palm.

With a sigh, he returned the wide-brimmed hat to its perch atop his head, and after another twitch of his wrist, his hand was filled once more with the gleaming hilt of Eileen the Crow’s legacy.

“That said, I am willing to compromise. Rather than seeing my fighting as you not extending proper hospitality, instead allow me to  _ repay  _ your hospitality by fighting alongside you.” The Good Hunter rolled his neck on his shoulders. “It has been a great while since I put these old bones to good use, after all. It would only be prudent for me to see just how rusty I’ve gotten.”

Summer gave him a long, measuring look. “I’m not gonna to get you to change your mind, am I?”

Cadfan didn’t reply verbally, but his amusement was palpable.

She shook her head. “Very well. I won’t object to you helping out, if you’re so insistent on it; there should be plenty for the four of us, if my senses are accurate – and they always are.” Summer looked over her shoulder at her daughters. “Be sure to pay close attention, girls. We’ll show you just what ace Huntsman and Huntresses are capable of.”

Yang gave a distracted grin, attention clearly split, while Ruby let out a noise reminiscent of an overheating teakettle and nodded vigorously with an excited gleam in her eye. 

Summer turned back to Taiyang. “I don’t suppose you recovered Cascading Blossom or Strident Thorn, did you?” At her husband’s pained grimace, she nodded. “Didn’t think so. Well, I’ve got  _ this _ thing, at least,” she said, hefting a saber, one all too familiar to Cadfan.

“Ah, you have my Rakuyo,” he observed. “I hope it serves you as well as it did me.” 

She looked at him sheepishly. “As soon as I replace Blossom and Thorn, I’ll return it to you. I promise.” 

Cadfan shook his head slightly. “It is no trouble. I can scarcely wield four weapons simultaneously, now can I?” As he spoke, he turned his eyes to the still-open door, and took a step forward, bending his knees slightly. “Our prey seem to have arrived.” 

In the next second, he was out the door and across the yard, his sword hilt-deep in the gut of one of the wolf-like Grimm. Pivoting on his heel and twisting the hilt  _ just  _ so, he slung the dying beast at another one of its brethren with such force that the impact folded the second creature’s spine in two. Gutters growls echoed around him in the dark as more of the wolves stalked along the ground towards him. 

The foul scent of Destruction wafted from the beasts, less a physical odor than a corrosive energy gnawing at his soul. There was no other stench he could compare it to, so exotically vile was their existence.

Narrowing his eyes, Cadfan swung his longer blade out to the side, allowing aquamarine crystal to cascade from his flesh down the edge of the weapon. This widened the blade slightly and extended to the sword’s length about half a meter. Arcane energy crackled down the length of the crystal-sheathed weapon, cold starlight chained in the form of faux-lightning, and then Cadfan  _ leapt _ .

His legs propelled him skyward with explosive force, spinning through the air and bringing his sword down in a vicious downward slash that cleft another wolf in twain even as landed in the midst of a large group of Grimm. First thrusting the Blades of Mercy in the ground with his left hand, Cadfan then swung the crystal-enhanced Holy Moonlight Sword in a wide arc, his entire body pivoting around his planted blade.

The initial passing of his sword took the lives of half a dozen of the wolves, and the bolts of Arcane energy that propagated out from each beast he struck slew perhaps two dozen more. Several that were on the fringes of his attack escaped with minor wounds, but before he could move to strike them down, they lost their heads to a thin yellow blade, genuine lightning dancing along its edge. 

Raven Branwen shot him a measuring look as she swiped her blade to the side and slammed it home into her scabbard without a word, then darted away, drawing her blade in a slashing motion. This time, however, her blade was crimson, burning through another Grimm with a dark, scentless flame.

Using the unexpected lull in combat to glance about the battlefield, he saw Taiyang crushing the skull of a large Grimm bear with a titanic punch that gleamed a metallic gold. 

Extending his more esoteric senses, Cadfan noticed the Aura in the man’s arms melding with his flesh and becoming physical. From this distance he had trouble seeing just  _ what _ the man’s Semblance was doing, but whatever the case, it was making the man’s fists hit with more force than Djura’s steam-powered Stake Driver, and that thing could punch through stone. 

Summer followed quickly in the brawler’s wake, silver vines of Aura and grey blades of steel lashing about her in wild and vicious abandon. Limbs rained around her as she slaughtered her way through the chaff before her, but not a single stain of ichor or dirt marred her pristine white cloak.

Even with the way most of her soul was occupied acting as both shield and brace, protecting her atrophied body even as it allowed her to fight, her power burned brightly. She used her Semblance judiciously and efficiently, but not sparingly. Every vine served to bring multiple foes into range of her or Taiyang, to slay or injure several more foes, and to allow her to move more quickly around the battlefield. Those few that escaped her range were quickly and dispassionately dispatched by Raven’s blade, darting in and out of its sheath with all the speed and lethality of a striking snake.

As he watched the trio butcher their prey, Cadfan rammed stiffened fingers through the abdomen of one of the few Grimm that remained in his part of the battlefield. After stopping to scoop up the Blades of Mercy from were they were imbedded in the ground, he swiped the Holy Moonlight Sword to one side, the sheath of aquamarine crystal dissolving into stardust. 

Now they had switched fighting styles, Cadfan observed. 

Rather than the brawler style Taiyang had favored before, he was now lashing out with open-handed strikes, his hands curled into claws and glowing white-hot. Quite literally claws, Cadfan soon realized, as he saw molten claw marks marring the rapidly-dissolving flesh of the felled Grimm. Trails of golden soul-fire came in the wake of his slashes, badly burning the beasts unlucky enough to be far enough away from Taiyang to not be slain instantly.

Summer, on the other hand, had recombined the Rakuyo into a single blade and recalled most of her vines, her Aura blazing through her body as she darted around her husband with speed that would’ve made even Cadfan’s mentors stand and take notice. In spite of the fact that the Rakuyo was not her own weapon, Summer remained a lethal hurricane of flashing steel and brightly burning Aura.

Finally, Raven had stopped using her quickdraw style, instead hooking her sheath to her hip and holding her crimson nodachi in both hands. The speed of her strikes were slightly slower, but still faster than Cadfan would have anticipated. As he backhanded a wolf away with enough force to snap its neck, he really  _ looked  _ at the woman, with all of his senses.

He blinked in surprise. He could sense a sizeable seed of Creation in her, significantly larger than Ozpin’s, though their seeds shared a distinct metaphysical scent beyond both being shards of Creation shaped into magic.

She was using her magic with incredible subtlety, the barest whisper of it coursing through her limbs. He half suspected she was drawing on it subconsciously, just so her strikes would be faster.

Cadfan shook his head. Whatever the case, she was here and assisting them, a dark angel descending upon the battlefield with flaming sword in hand.

_ ‘No matter,’ _ he decided, tilting his head out of the way of a claw swipe and responding in kind with a slash that claimed the head of his attacker.  _ ‘There will surely be time enough later for questions. For now, though…’ _

His left hand blurred out, Arcane power and Vileblood sorcery accelerating his strikes beyond visibility. In the next instant, ten heads toppled from the necks of ten wolves and struck the ground in unison.  _ ‘For now, we are Hunting, and there is no time for interrogations mid-Hunt.’ _

Cadfan let out a low hiss as the shredded muscles and ligaments in his arm mended themselves. As he waited for his regeneration to do its job, he laid about himself with the Holy Moonlight Sword, each stroke of the worn stone blade severing a head or bisecting a torso. As the mindless beasts died in droves, he spared a glance towards the three other Hunters on the battlefield (if it could truly be called that, Cadfan felt the yard had become more a charnel house than anything else).

Out of the three, Raven was doing the best – whether because as a bandit, regular combat was a part of her life, or because of her magic, Cadfan was unsure. She was cutting a swath of destruction through the Grimm, an expression somewhere between frustration and disgust on her face. The crimson blade of her nodachi left trails of flame in its wake as it tore through her opponents as easily as it split the air. 

Taiyang appeared to still be going strong, tearing a bear in twain with his bare hands, but Cadfan could see the beginnings of fatigue building from the set of his shoulders and the slight heaviness of his motions. His Aura was burning less brightly as well, what was once a towering wildfire having subsided into a slightly-less-towering bonfire.

Summer, unsurprisingly, was in the worst shape of the three. Her decision to cease using her Semblance was a wise one, in Cadfan’s opinion. She was still able to fight, but she was doing so defensively, allowing the Grimm to come to her, rather than becoming the blur of slaughter that she had been before. Still, as rough of a shape as she was in, she fought efficiently and took very few hits.

Cadfan’s left arm now healed, it snapped around to blast aside the claw of a particularly large wolf. This one had many more bone plates and spikes on its body; perhaps it was in a later stage of growth than the others.

None of these facts saved it as it staggered back, however. That single instant of vulnerability might as well have been an eternity for Cadfan, as he drove his sword into its abdomen, then violently tore upwards. The beast didn’t even have time to growl before Ludwig’s legacy sheared through its mask.

As he swung his inherited blade to one side to disperse the momentum of the backswing, Cadfan heard Summer shout a phrase. Before he could so much as wonder what “Dragon’s Garden” meant, he bore witness to an impressive spectacle.

Silver vines had sprouted from the ground all around Summer and Taiyang, enclosing the majority of their remaining foes in a prison born of the soul. (The rest would fall quickly if not quietly to Raven’s blade while his eyes were pinned to the spectacle the married duo was about to put on). Then, Taiyang took a flying leap and pushed off of Summer’s waiting hands, Aura blazing back to its full brilliance and beyond as he streaked skyward, a golden comet in reverse. 

If his ascension was a comet, his descent was nothing less than a meteorite, his Aura transmuted to golden flame and focused into a single, titanic punch. It was so bright that even Cadfan had to look away lest he lose his vision momentarily.

When the light faded and the ‘bars’ of the silver cage came down, all that remained within was a bedraggled Taiyang, chest heaving as he stood upon a floor of molten stone. A single silver vine snaked out from beneath Summer’s cloak and snatched him off of the hellish terrain his attack had created.

Exhaling wearily, Taiyang quipped, “That’s gonna take a  _ lot _ of fertilizer to fi—”

_ -{DANGER}- _

Cadfan hurtled across the ground, the muscles in his legs tearing and healing half a dozen times in the same moment as he closed the distance between the two Hunters and him. Even as the ground shattered beneath his feet, Summer was moving as well, having apparently registered the same threat as he. 

But her fatigue was showing all too clearly; her vines weren’t moving nearly as swiftly as they had been. Even as her Semblance yanked the two away from where they were standing, a large black claw, easily the size of Cadfan’s torso, erupted from the ground and swiped at them.

Cadfan narrowed his eyes, and pulsed Arcane energy through his bones. The world glowed blue and slowed as Quickening took hold of his body. His eyes focused on the space between the hand and Summer.

In the next instant, the world’s color returned, and he was between the new beast and the two Hunters that fought by his side. A spike of aquamarine crystal erupted from where his foot had touched down and impaled the spindly-fingered hand through its palm.

The ground cracked and quaked as an unholy screech sounded from within the ground. “Murklurker,” Taiyang muttered in irritation. “Damn tricky things…”

As the new Grimm dragged itself from the ground, the irritation in his voice quickly turned to dread. 

“That’s not just a Murklurker,” Summer breathed.

The beast was humanoid, with limbs well longer than a full grown man was tall, and ten long, thin fingers and toes ending in bone white claws that curved wickedly like talons. Its body was speckled with countless bone plates arrayed in the suggestion of clothing, though the creature had no identifying features that necessitated modesty. 

Out of all parts of the beast, the most disturbing was the face. Yes, face, for the Grimm’s mask covered little, merely encircling the crimson orbs that all of the monsters bore. The rest of its face was a twisted parody of a human’s: a too-thin nose made of white bone scales, a pair of bone-bladed ears, and countless razor-sharp quills dotting its head in a bizarre but deadly display parodying hair. And its  _ mouth. _ The Grimm’s mouth gave literal homage to the term “face-splitting grin”, as its jaw hinged open almost ninety degrees to reveal a cruelly grinning maw filled with fangs. Fangs that were covered in what Cadfan recognized to be dried blood and viscera.

“That’s  _ Jenny Redteeth _ ,” Summer finished her statement as the monster rose to its full height, five meters of malice and murder.

_ ‘This one is on a completely different level than those others. I may actually have to  _ exert _ myself.’ _

Cadfan nodded to himself, then sheathed his sword at his hip. Out of a burst of mist tumbled his scythe, tossed to him by the ever-helpful Messengers. 

The beast called Jenny Redteeth hissed at him, gnashing its gory fangs together as it lunged forward with a blisteringly fast swipe. Burning more Quickening, he blurred out of the way of the attack then, when the beast’s hand struck the ground where he’d been standing, Cadfan sprinted up its arm, the Burial Blade’s curved edge leaving a twinkling trail of Arcane energy in its wake. Less than a breath later, the siderite blade—charged with enough power to make an Amygdala flinch—bit into the Grimm’s neck. To Cadfan’s surprise, though his stroke had cut deep, it had not severed the monster’s head as he’d intended. As he tried to yank Gherman’s legacy free, a loud  _ crack _ resounded through the clearing.

_ The wooden haft of the Burial Blade had snapped.  _

A guttural whine of rage, guilt, and grief escaped Cadfan’s throat as he cast aside the shambles that the haft had become. He wrapped his hand around the metal hilt of the weapon’s blade, and with a mighty yank, tore the weapon free. From his free hand sprouted a pole of aquamarine crystal, curving and attaching itself to the blade at his will. 

His makeshift scythe in hand, Cadfan leapt down from the shoulder of the Grimm as it staggered due to its injuries. As he landed, he spun his weapon into an odd stance, hilt held backwards and in one hand, the curve of his blade arcing behind him parallel to his arm.

Then? Then, he  _ let go. _

The others present would later tell him that his power had washed over the entire area surrounding the house, a weighty presence paradoxically suffocating and comforting in equal measure.

At that moment, though? All he knew was  _ Wrath _ .

His Quickening burned even higher than before, the world wreathed in azure and slowed to the point that its movement was scarcely even perceptible. Cadfan felt more than heard his bones crack under the pressure of the speed at which he moved, but he remained impassive. Arcane light bloomed along the edge of the Burial Blade, and then he  _ moved. _

When his Quickening burned itself out, Summer and Taiyang saw him kneeling on the opposite side of Jenny Redteeth, the crystal haft of his weapon nowhere to be seen as his chest heaved. As they looked on, the massive Murklurker let out a choked gasp, and promptly blew away, dissolved in an instant.

Nobody would have been able to see it, but in that single millisecond of movement, Cadfan had struck the Grimm over a thousand times.

As Summer and Taiyang rushed over to the kneeling Hunter, they heard two things. 

Cadfan snarling a phrase sotto voce...and the distinct  _ thrum _ of Raven’s portals from across the clearing, even as she spoke.

_ “Prey Slaughtered.” _

_ “Goodbye.” _

Summer spun to lash out with her vines, to prevent the woman who was as a sister to her from leaving once more, but little more than silver mist came from her body. 

She was out of Aura, Summer realized with a grimace. As the red portal finished winking out, Taiyang laid a hand on her shoulder and spoke quietly. “We’ll find her again.”

A simple statement, but a potent one all the same, especially when uttered with the unshakable certainly that Taiyang had given it.

Almost as one, the duo turned back to Cadfan, who was still kneeling and looking at the blade in his lap mournfully, arms limp at his sides.

Summer walked over to his side. “Don’t worry; I’m sure we can make a new, better haft for it!” She patted his right shoulder, only to jump when he let out a strangled moan.

“T-that’s not it, Lady Rose,” Cadfan bit out. “That last attack powdered the joints in my right arm and both of my legs, and splintered the rest of the bone. Vileblood sorcery can’t fully eliminate pain of this level, so I will be forced to kneel here until I regenerate.” Under his breath, he muttered, “A fitting penance for so foolishly damaging Ser Gehrman’s weapon.”

Taiyang looked at Summer, who shrugged helplessly. She looked back to Cadfan, then asked, “Is there anything we can do to help you regenerate faster?”

Cadfan chuckled wryly. “Sadly not. However, I would not refuse a gallon or three of blood after I have become whole again. It would help me get my stamina back from the strain I have undergone, both physical and metaphysical.” Upon seeing their expressions, Cadfan chuckled. “The blood need not be that of a person. It merely must be fresh blood of a being that has lived a fair amount of time. It is not the blood itself that matters, but the memories of life  _ within _ the blood that matters.”

Summer looked over to Taiyang, cupping her chin thoughtfully. “We’ve still got deer in these woods, don’t we?”

Taiyang blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, there should be some.”

“Good. I’ll go get some,” Summer decided, taking a step towards the forest.

Unfortunately, she forgot that she was out of Aura. As she tumbled forward, Annalise’s words echoed in her memory.

_ “Your arts of the soul may be mitigating your atrophy somewhat, but your strength is a mere fraction of what it was before your maiming.” _

She’d had no idea how heavily she’d been relying on her Aura just to allow her to move and fight, and now that she’d run out, she couldn’t even hold herself up. Before she could hit the ground, however, she was in Taiyang’s arms.

She looked with her soul, staring with no eyes into what she knew would be slit-pupiled orbs, azure crystals gleaming with concern, and something inside her unknotted slightly. Whatever trials were to come, whatever schemes Ozpin would plot, for now, she was home.

_ And for now, that was enough. _

* * *

 

**AN:** **_Kicks down door to thread, dodging Dust rounds and Quicksilver Bullets fired his way_ **

**I’m baaa-aaack~**

**...**

**In all seriousness, I’d like to apologise for taking more than a month to update this story. A plethora of things got in my way, both from a writing point of view and IRL. I won’t go into too much detail about it, but suffice it to say my month has been...** **_irritating_ ** **, on several fronts.**

**The bright side? In spite of my muse’s abject lack of focus on this story, it has been working overdrive on two others, one of which has been posted already, the other of which is currently undergoing revisions to its prologue.**

**But that’s enough shilling; as always, my thanks go out to Teninshigen and Slavok for betaing and just being generally helpful and awesome people, Always Late To The Party for her(?) excellent advice and input, TheLonelyWillow for being a wonderful supporter and cheering me on, and all of you, dear readers, both for deigning to grace my work with your eyes** **_and_ ** **for your patience. Enjoy!**


	10. Chapter 9: Respite

Chapter 9: Respite

The last few pages of the book are covered in unintelligible scribble and numerous stains, with the exception of the final page. On that page, a single line is elegantly written.

_“I once was blind, but by the grace of the Queen, I have been granted sight.”_

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I

Circa 0 M.F.

(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

A few minutes had passed since Taiyang had hustled Summer inside of their home, and now Cadfan had regenerated sufficiently to at least move. Taking up the Burial Blade’s remnants with a baleful sigh, the Good Hunter followed after, poking his head in through the door.

Inside, Ser Ozpin sat beside Qrow, the Hunter who’d arrived moments before the battle. Across the table from them sat Taiyang and Summer, the latter leaning into the former’s side. Ruby was sitting nearby, eyes gleaming with concern as she glanced between her mother and her sister.

Speaking of her sister...the foul mood hanging over Yang’s head was practically palpable. Everything from the set of her shoulders, the tension in her jaw, and the white-knuckled clenching of her fists gave it away. Well, that and the way her hair was literally giving off flame, and her formerly lilac eyes glinted red like bloodstained rubies.

Qrow and Ser Ozpin were each nursing a drink, though the types and purposes of their respective beverages were quite different. Where Ozpin was drinking something steaming from a small mug (presumably tea, as coffee tended to have a stronger scent to it), Qrow’s poison of choice was alcohol, and of highly potent grade at that. Cadfan could feel its pungent bouquet searing his nostrils from across the room.

_‘Speaking of drinks…’_ Cadfan cleared his throat. “Ser Ozpin?” When the man looked to him, one grey eyebrow raised, he continued, “I am no longer injured, but—”

The Headmaster raised a forestalling hand. “Miss Rose filled me in already. Feel free to go... _feed_.” It was only for a moment, but a brief expression of discomfort crossed the Ser Ozpin’s face as he spoke. “We will still be here when you return.”

The Good Hunter nodded, then turned to leave. Abruptly, a thought occurred to him. “Ah, Ser Ozpin. Could you perhaps have somebody bring Isolde here? I’m sure she would like to meet Lady Rose.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll have Glynda bring her over momentarily.”

Cadfan bowed his thanks, then excused himself, walking out into the night. Before he got too far, though, sounds of raised voices coming from the house caused him to pause in his tracks. After a minute or two, the noise died down, and he proceeded into the forest.

His time in the moonlit woods wasn’t a long one; while the denizens of the forest had withdrawn to den and nest during the fight, now that it had passed they’d emerged once more. Thus it was so that the Good Hunter found suitable prey swiftly, his nose and soul inexorably drawn to (and impeccably cognizant of) quality blood.

What his senses had latched onto was a venerable stag, the Echoes surging within its veins a veritable hoard of energy and memory alike. On silent feet Cadfan ghosted through the brush, approaching the deer from behind. Before the animal had time to register his presence, the Good Hunter’s hand snaked out to grip the neck of the deer in a firm but gentle grip.

Muttering his thanks both to his prey itself and to Ahura Mazda, the Brother of Creation, he crushed the deer’s brain stem, killing it instantly. Adjusting his grip on the already cooling corpse to something closer to an embrace, Cadfan hunched over his meal.

In a clearing barely lit by a shattered moon, tendrils of aquamarine crystal glinted as they flowed from a Great One sheathed in mortal flesh and twisted around, enveloping the stag’s body completely. A sound like a thousand mouths chewing quietly filled the clearing, and when Cadfan rose to his feet, there was no trace of his prey. Indeed, the only signs that anything unusual had happened were the aquamarine flecks that glinted with unearthly light in his otherwise ice-blue eyes. Even these were swift to fade as he turned on his heel and returned from whence he came.

-x-x-x-

“That guy did _what_?”

Qrow stared at Summer incredulously. After he’d recovered from the shock of finding out his old team leader was alive (and already back in the saddle of Supermom, judging by how fast she’d defused Yang’s temper and gotten her and Ruby to go to sleep), he’d thought that he wouldn’t have any more surprises this evening.

…

In hindsight, that was probably a naive hope rather than a realistic expectation, considering all the fuckery Oz always got up to.

Even so, _this?_ This was beyond the pale, and if he was reading the looks on Oz’s face right (and _man_ Oz must have had A Day if he was actually showing his thoughts on his face), this whole Vampire—oh, sorry, _Vileblood_ (like that sounded any better)—Princess dealie was just the _tip_ of this iceberg of mindfuck.

…

And people wondered why he was a drunk.

Of course, the countless numbskulls that _didn’t_ know the sort of crap Oz always had him poke his nose into only saw a surly, slurring drunk twenty-four seven, but such was his crappy, craptacular life.

As Summer opened her mouth to repeat herself, Qrow raised a hand. “Nah, I heard ya the first time. But seriously, lopping off his own _head?_ Who _does_ that?”

“Vilebloods, apparently,” Oz remarked, deadpan. Qrow snorted, then tossed back a gulp of his Vacuan Nightmare 180, one of the strongest drinks in the world. His throat felt like it caught fire and froze solid in the same breath, the paradoxical sensation caused by a careful blend of ground Fire and Ice Dust slowly infused into the drink over the several years it took to mature. Would it kill him eventually? Well, it could try, but it would have to wait in line.

As he screwed the cap of his flask back on, he winced at Summer’s disappointed … eye sockets. Right, she knew him from back when he was sober. _Well, a lot has changed since your funeral, Glorious Leader_ , _so if you don’t like it, pour yourself a glass and deal._ Qrow ran a hand through his messy black hair and glanced over at his boss. “So what aren’t you tellin’ us, Oz?”

The Headmaster carefully set down his now-empty mug, his free hand reaching up to adjust his glasses. “My, my,” he mused. “I really must be weary if I am slipping this badly. Perhaps...hmm.” Oz waved a hand dismissively. “Regardless, I would prefer more time to consider... _certain things_ before I disseminate this information to even my most trusted allies. Aside from myself, Cadfan, and his associates, only Glynda and Bartholomew know the secret, and while I will likely share the particulars with you three in time, I would prefer to make sure that I understand everything as best I can first.”

Qrow hummed thoughtfully, then replied, “Fair.”

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. “Speaking of Cadfan’s associates,” Ozpin remarked, “that should be Isolde now.” Qrow nodded, then rose to get the door. When he opened it, his jaw dropped.

_‘Vampire queens and living dolls. I’m not drunk enough for this shit.’_

-x-x-x-

Halfway across the world, deep in the forests of the eastern continent of Anima, the midday sun lit upon a particular clearing. Now, this clearing wouldn’t ordinarily be of any note, were it not home to a ramshackle, hastily constructed camp filled to the brim with scoundrels, brigands, and all other manner of ne’er-do-well.

Most of the denizens of said hive of scum and villainy were scattered about in various states of inaction, whether enjoying the spoils of their latest raid, maintaining their gear, or reclining in various states of repose.

One particular bandit was perched on a stump, running a whetstone down the curved, moonlike blades of her weapons. Her Waning Fangs had gotten dull in their last raid, courtesy of a Huntsman that had decided to get uppity.

The woman who’d taken the name Vernal sighed and blew a lock of brown hair out of her azure eyes. It always pissed her off when Huntsmen and Huntresses tried to fight back when they were outnumbered and outgunned. She could understand it if they actually had enough numbers to fight back, or if the tribe went out of their way to hurt civilians (Raven had beaten _that_ habit out of their members long ago, as it drew far too much attention. It was much more efficient to spare the villages that cooperated, and terrify the ones that didn’t, letting the Grimm do the rest.).

But more often than not, those idiots just _insisted_ on fighting back and getting in their way, even though resisting was a no-win scenario for them. The years of brainwashing that convinced them that they could “change the world” made them impossible to reason with, even though it would be better for everyone if “valiant champions of Remnant” died fighting Grimm instead of (nearly) harmless bandits. The sheer wastefulness and inefficiency of it all baffled and annoyed “Vernal” in equal measure.

The woman’s thoughts were abruptly cut off as the distinct _thrum_ of Raven Branwen’s Semblance carving a gaping wound of bloody crimson into the fabric of reality acted as an abrupt funeral bell for all activity in the camp. Dozens of eyes fixed upon the corcuscating distortion, and then on the woman that strode from it.

Raven passed the members of the Branwen tribe without a word, making for her tent with quick, clipped steps. At the foot of her tent, a massive red amalgamation of cloth and wood, she paused. Her right hand rested on the hilt of her sheathed blade, while her left rose from her side fractionally.

It was a barely noticeable twitch of the wrist, and indeed, if Vernal hadn’t been specifically looking out for it, she’d have missed it. Raven wanted her to join her in her tent.

Now, ordinarily this could mean any number of things, ranging from a brief update on the world’s occurances to…”stress relief”, but one didn’t get made Raven Branwen’s second-in-command (and occasional bedmate) without being canny as hell. Thus, Vernal immediately picked up on two things that told her this meeting would be a serious one.

First, Raven’s signature Nevermore mask was nowhere in sight. This had happened a few times in the past, but rarely enough that it was of some note (and of some concern, not that she or her mistress would admit to feeling such a _weak_ thing for one another).

Second, and of _far_ more immediate consideration, was the faint discoloration and swelling that was beginning to show on her right cheek. For Raven to get hit hard enough that she was injured _through_ _her Aura_...that was something she’d seen happen precisely once before, and that was when her mistress had been fighting _the traitor_ and another Huntsman simultaneously.

Of course, Raven had made the Huntsman _pay_ for that bullet in the gut, in the form of losing most of the right side of his body, but that was irrelevant. Somebody had hurt _her mistress_ . That was of extraordinary concern, especially if there was even the _slightest_ chance that they could track her back here (a paranoid concern, perhaps, but in their line of business paranoia was a _requirement)_.

Raven was far and away the strongest of the tribe, so anyone who could bruise her cheek could probably take off Vernal’s head with the same amount of effort.

Even as her mind parsed all this information at a rapid rate, she rose from her perch and walked over to her mistress’s side.

As she walked, she clicked a pair of buttons on the sides of her weapons, the twin crescents of the wind-and-fire blades retracting into the tops and bottoms of a pair of pistols, which she allowed to fall from her hands into a pair of holsters on each thigh.

As the duo entered the great tent, the woman who had taken the name Vernal set aside her worries for the moment. _Now_ , her mistress had need of her. And if there was anything she could do to ease the burdens borne by the woman who raised up the weak, ignorant Talia Argent into the strong, canny Vernal?

_She would._

-x-x-x-

It was to a quiet, slightly uncomfortable silence that Cadfan returned. The reason was unfortunate, albeit understandable; he had reacted much the same upon his first meeting with Isolde, all those millennia ago. The sight of a woman made of ceramic and wood, yet moving, breathing, and speaking as though flesh _was_ an alarming one. Cadfan vaguely recalled Isolde reading him something about an “uncanny valley effect;” perhaps that was the cause.

Regardless of the _reason_ for the Rose/Xiao-Long family’s discomfort, the Good Hunter did not wish to see it continue unnecessarily. Thankfully, his arrival served as a suitable interruption, as all eyes in the room fixed on him at once.

“I have returned,” Cadfan commented needlessly, then winced at the non-sequitur.

_…_

_Why_ was dealing with people so difficult? Oh, right. It’s because most of his human life had been spent in what amounted to a library, the rest of it had been spent killing his way through armies of monsters and madmen, his only companions a grumpy old man, an equally belligerent older woman, and a living doll who’d had equally poor social skills as he.

(The ten millennia he’d spent as a network of Arcane crystal beneath the surface of the planet hadn’t helped matters either.)

Isolde gave a small, demure chuckle that snapped him from his reverie. “Welcome back, Good Hunter. I trust your meal was enjoyable?”

Cadfan gave a nod, pulling his mask down and tossing his hat onto the hat rack. “That it was, Isolde. I managed to find a stag of perhaps twenty years, and his blood held many Echoes from which I managed to draw sustenance.”

“Speaking of,” Summer interjected, tilting her head towards him, “what’d you do with the body? There’s not many people on Patch, but finding a deer drained of its blood isn’t exactly comforting, I’d imagine.”

Cadfan waved a hand dismissively. “Worry not, Lady Rose. I left no evidence of my meal.”

“What, did ya eat the whole thing?” Qrow interjected, a joking tone to his voice as he tossed back another gulp of that pungent brew.

“Of course. Waste not, want not, after all,” Cadfan replied seriously. The choking noise that the black-haired Hunter proceeded to make elicited a slight twitch of the Good Hunter’s lips, but no other tells as to his amusement made it onto his face.

Qrow shot him a dirty look, then chuckled dryly. “You think you’re funny, don’t ya?”

“I am sure I have _no_ idea what you are talking about, Mr. Branwen,” Cadfan shot back, one thin eyebrow arched.

The other man grimaced. “Please, _for the love of the gods_ , jus’ call me Qrow. I ain’t gonna answer to ‘Mr. Branwen’ ‘till I’m a grandpa, if I have my way.”

“You even don’t _have_ kids, Qrow,” Taiyang interjected, deadpan.

Qrow offered a wolfish grin and raised his flask as though offering a toast. _“Exactly,”_ he replied, before tossing back another swig.

Cadfan observed this byplay with mild amusement, before it was interrupted by Ser Ozpin clearing his throat. “As much as I hate to interrupt this reunion, there are a few things that remain to be discussed.” To his credit, Ser Ozpin _did_ seem legitimately regretful.

“Firstly, Mr. Lloyd,” Ser Ozpin began, setting down his mug. “Though I’m sure you were unaware of this, that Grimm you slew, Jenny Redteeth? That was a Storied Grimm, as evidenced by it having a specific name of its own.”

“Yeah,” Summer chimed in. “That old hag’s been harassing Vale and Patch for decades! Compared to some of the other Stories, she wasn’t that tough, but she _was_ slippery. Quicker than a Sprite and better at hiding than a Doppelgänger. And then you come along and _poof_.” Summer spread her hands in tandem with the noise. “She’s dust in the wind.”

Cadfan canted his head to one side, considering the information he’d been given. Even as he did, Ser Ozpin spoke up again. “ _That_ brings me to my next point. Storied Grimm invariably have bounties, though usually some manner of evidence is required, such as a photograph. That said,” at this he gave a wry smile, “no one will dispute you claiming the bounty if _I_ back you as a witness.”

Cadfan blinked. “A _bounty_ you say? Well, I certainly will not turn down a source of income; I doubt greatly that the currencies of ten millennia ago are of much worth, other than from a historic perspective.”

Ser Ozpin chuckled. “Bartholomew would say that historic value is the most important value, but I take your point. I’ll see to it that you can claim the bounty tomorrow, and set up a banking account while I’m at it. For now, though, I think it’d be best if we leave everything else for daytime. There should be a few spare beds back at Beacon...assuming you actually _require_ sleep?”

Cadfan tilted a hand from side to side. “Not strictly, but it _would_ help me get back in top form more quickly.”

Ozpin nodded. “That settles it, then. I’m sure Glynda won’t mind _too_ terribly coming back by to pick us—”

“Absolutely not,” Summer cut in with a frown made all the more intimidating by her lack of eyes. “Like you said, it’s late. We’ve got enough space for everyone to sleep in the guest room.” She turned her face towards Isolde. “It feels kinda rude to ask, but do _you_ sleep?”

Isolde smiled kindly at the other woman. “I do, actually. I do not know _why_ I do, but I suppose it is simply part of the metaphysics of being born of dreams, wishes and the blood of a dead god.”

Two pairs of eyes and a pair of sunken sockets fixed on her as Summer, Taiyang, and Qrow all _stared._

After a moment, Qrow set down his drink and said, “You’re right, Oz. I’m _waaaaay_ too tired to deal with anymore of this shit right n- _oof!”_ His words were cut off by a faintly shimmering vine cuffing him upside his head.

Though Summer looked as though the action had strained her, her stern face remained as fierce as ever. “ _What_ have I said about swearing in my household?” asked the white-cloaked woman in a sickly-sweet tone.

Looking like nothing so much as a scolded puppy, Qrow muttered, “Not to.”

When Taiyang let out a chuckle, Summer rounded on him, causing said chuckle to die brutally in his throat. “As for you, mister,” Summer said sternly, “I wonder _just_ what gave him the idea that swearing in my home was okay? And Yang, for that matter? _Hmmm?”_

“Ahahahaha…” Taiyang let out the ‘I’m sleeping in the doghouse chuckle’ (trademarked by husbands everywhere) as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

Ser Ozpin let out a pointed cough. “Miss Rose, if it’s not too much trouble, could you save disciplining your husband until _after_ we’ve been bedded down?”

Summer snorted. “Qrow. Show ‘em to the guest rooms while Tai and I … _talk_.”

Qrow let out a dry chuckle before doing as he was instructed, leading Cadfan, Ozpin, and Isolde down a side hall. There was a door on each side of the hall, and one at the end. “Two beds to a room, bathroom’s at the end of the hall. Oz an’ me will take one, you two lovebirds can take the other.”

Isolde let out a tinkling laugh even as Cadfan snorted. “Hardly, Qrow. Isolde and I are closer to siblings than anything else.”

“That said,” Isolde added, “is there something you’d like to share about your relationship with Ser Ozpin?”

-x-x-x-

The look of utter revulsion that had consumed Qrow’s face was absolutely priceless, Cadfan mused as he laid down in a bed for the first time in millennia. A real bed to maintain homeostatic thermal equilibrium during the decreased endothermic activity of slumber. Truly, the cosmic wonders of the universe were nothing compared to the creature comforts of humanity. A sigh of bliss escaped his lips as he shut his eyes, surrendering himself to dreamless (and Dreamless) sleep.

As he drifted off, he felt a small spark of giddiness. What would the morrow hold? He could scarcely wait to find out…

* * *

**AN: So, here’s this thing. It’s a bit later than intended, as a tropical storm decided to dump on my general area and kill the power for most of the county. Anywhoozle, many thanks as always to Slavok and Teninshigen for their beta work. I hope y’all enjoy!**


	11. Caryll Interlude I: Corruption

Carryl Interlude I: Corruption   
  


In a snowbound castle shrouded by ice, snow, and blood sorcery, a lonesome queen opened the door to her bedchambers. It had been thousands of years since she’d set foot in this room, since she had been able to do much as rise from that  _ blasted  _ chair.

But now? Now, she was  _ freed _ from that constraining mask, and at the hands of her most loyal subject at that. 

Free to move about her castle, to enjoy the simpler pleasures of her home, unchanged by time’s ravages due to ancient spells that not even that old cleric Logarius had been able to do more than scrape at. It was unfortunate, and ironic, that the very spells that staved off time’s hand had been lost to the past.

Her room was as she left it— _ exactly _ as she left it, down to the last speck of dust. As she stepped into her room, she felt … resistance. Inertia. It was as though ten thousand years of stasis took a moment to realize that the clock was once more ticking. The whole castle was like that, asleep until her royal presence woke it up. She stepped into the room, savoring the texture of the fine carpet between her toes, and thanked Cadfan once more for freeing her. Her subject had come a long way since their first encounter, both more changed and more himself than he had ever been. She was one of the only ones left who remembered him, who—no,  _ what _ he was, and what he was on the brink of becoming.  _ Yes, _ she thought, remembering.  _ Much changed indeed. _

-x-x-x-x-x-

_ There was little to do anymore, Annalise thought, but plot and brood.  _

_ That blasted Lich hadn’t just sealed her away, oh no. Logarius had added insult to injury and wrenched control of her castle from her, driving her gargoyle knights mad and turning her servants into little more than slavering beasts. Her knights? Slaughtered to the last. Her handmaidens? Cursed to an ethereal unlife by a twisted corruption of the Vileblood art that allowed loyal knights to pledge themselves from beyond the grave, never you mind that the very same Executioners that cast it called her kind abominations for such abilities. _

_ All this, for the detestable actions of rogue members of her court, members whose heads had been taken by her very own blade once she’d received word of their transgressions. _

_ The worst of it, though, had nothing to do with the metaphysical shackles Logarius had bound her with, nor the usurpation of her demesne. No, the worst of it was the Mother-bedamned temporal distortion! Every time the scheming First gathered to his cause a new Hunter, time wound itself backwards! The Hunter always blazed with power in her blood’s eye (thank the Deep that the Lich hadn’t managed to cloud that), perhaps because of the volatile mix that the Moon’s Paleblood and the Cosmic ichor of the Church’s “Oracle” made. _

_ Some made it further than others, she found. Some broke very quickly, and became slavering beasts, unfit for anything besides quick mercy. Others fell the other way, lining their brains with countless eyes to stave off the bloodlust but having their minds snap under the strain of otherworldly knowledge. _

_ Few had enough will and wit to balance the bloods and not lose themselves, and fewer still managed to keep that will long enough to become suitable. _

_ Those who managed to survive the trials of Yharnam and the Cathedral Ward to reach Hemwick, that once-bright and bustling village now overrun by madman, monsters, and fell witches, would be sent a missive by her bloodravens, one of the few abilities she managed to slip past her restraints. _

_ To her sorrow and shame, those who answered her missives were slain without exception, over and over until they broke and faded into the Nightmare or were twisted into Logarius’ thralls. Whether by the formidable defenses of Castle Cainhurst or by the frostbitten hands and blackened weapons of the Lich, none of her would-be champions survived to reach her. _

_ Yet still she tried, for what else could she do? Give up and sink into despair? Not while there remained life in her breast, nor Vileblood in her veins. Cainhurst  _ would _ have a Queen, shackled or not. _

_ Though she told herself that, and remained steadfast in her efforts to find a Hunter who would become the first of her new Knights, her hope was waning with every passing reset. _

_ But one day, everything changed. She’d sent her customary missive upon noticing the latest Hunter slay this time’s iteration of the Witches, in spite of concerns about how much the Beast Scourge was roiling his blood. She couldn’t afford to be picky, since he still retained some measure of sanity. _

_ She watched with her blood as he traversed her castle, hope fading each time he died and rekindling each time he survived. Eventually, he reached the Lich.  _

_ She dared not look too closely at Logarius’s domain; the old Lich would almost assuredly notice her Eyes on him and tighten her chains. The only news of the Hunter’s battle with her jailer that she could get were the sounds of battle, the crunch of Logarius’s feet carrying him across frozen tile with unreasonable speed, his scythe and sword playing an eclectic orchestra of clashing steel and howling Arcana. As though in counterpoint to the Lich, the  _ boom _ of the Hunter’s firearm sounded, once, twice, thrice, and then came the expected silence of Logarius returning to his throne, even as her Eyes saw the Hunter reappear at one of those bizarre little lanterns. _

_ With each successive run through Cainhurst, the Hunter reached Logarius more and more quickly, but she could see the ravages of the Moon’s beastly ichor worsening with every death at the Lich’s hands. _

_ After perhaps a dozen deaths, silence fell for a moment. It was then shattered, not by Logarius’ plodding footsteps, but by a low, pained cry that terminated in a wet tearing noise, like someone ripping fiber apart. At the same moment, she felt her shackles tremble and weaken, but not break. Logarius had apparently anticipated the possibility of his death, and had set a failsafe in the bedamned mask. _

_ For indeed, her jailer had finally perished at the blade of that Hunter. Opening her Eyes to that balcony, she saw him raise a Logarius’ severed, crowned head at the wall and unleash an eerie, inhuman cry through bloodstained teeth. As the cries reached her ears through the illusionary wall, it blew apart into mist, laying bare the stairs to her throne. _

Thump. Thump. Thump.

_ The Hunter slowly but surely ascended, each moment growing closer and closer to her. _

Thump. Thump. Thump.

_ After seeing his bloodthirsty grin, after hearing that beastly howl, she was no longer certain that the Hunter would even be  _ capable  _ of listening to her request. _

Thump. Thump. Thump.

_ If he’d delved too deeply into the Beast Scourge, she wouldn’t be able to bring him to coherence for long enough to gain his consent, and she  _ refused _ to turn someone without consent, even if it was to save a life. It would be a transgression beyond compare to do so, a betrayal of everything her mother, the Queen before her, had passed on to her when she relinquished her blood and went to her rest with the Mother’s spirit. _

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Thud.

_ He had reached her landing, and peered through the myriad statues that surrounded her, left by Logarius as a reminder of each and every one of her subjects he’d stolen, by death and by slavery both. _

_ He was soaked in blood. His long, once-brown coat, long the signature of a Workshop Hunter, was stained a deep crimson, as was every other article of clothing he wore. From his left hand dangled the severed, shriveled head of Logarius, crown still atop his head and blood dripping from his torn neck. In the other hand was a more familiar sight: a  _ Reiterpallasch _ , the chief weapon her Knights made use of. A long rapier that had a mechanism for short-range gunfire, the Hunter could only have acquired the weapon while here.  _

_ All the same, the blade had clearly seen use, judging by the blood, bile, and brain matter smeared on it. (Annalise was only willing to forgive  _ that _ because of how ravaged by the Beast Scourge he was.) _

_ In spite of his fearsome, savage appearance, Annalise was able to see that his eyes, while manic and bloodshot, were still lit with the fires of higher intelligence. That, coupled with the fact that his limbs had yet to twist and warp and he didn’t seem to have any unusual hair growths, was enough for Annalise to dare hope. _

_ Hope that she would finally have a Knight, one who could bring her the means to give birth to a new world. _

_ Hope that she would no longer be alone. _

-x-x-x-x-x-

Annalise smiled in remembrance. How right and yet wrong she’d been, thinking that  _ she _ would be the one to turn the world on its head, to be the catalyst to the birth of a new Great One.

She  _ had _ been a catalyst, to be sure! Dear Cadfan had been on the cusp of becoming a slavering beast, but he’d been coherent enough to understand what she was offering, and what she was asking.

Had it not been for the Vileblood of Mother Kos cleansing from him the encroaching insanity of the Beast Scourge, creating a three-fold balance between Moon, Cosmos and Deep, her dear Knight would not have survived to avenge Mother Kos and put to rest the specter of her Orphan; to free poor, broken Ebrietas from her imprisonment by those  _ monsters _ in the Choir; to face Flora, driven mad with grief.

Had it not been for her, he would not have become the Lattice, becoming the guardian of this world, freeing Ahura Mazda and Ahriman from their chains to walk the world once more. 

…

Granted, that last was a mixed blessing to say the least, considering how mad the... _ attentions _ of the Amygdalae had driven Destruction, but the release of Creation had been vital in the survival of the world that would become Remnant.

Annalise ceased her reminiscing, and walked over to a long-unopened door. Time enough had been spent on the past; now, she must look to the future.

Flinging open the door and striding into the closet, the Queen of Cainhurst girded herself in silk and siderite. First came the silken, leather padded tunic of deep crimson and slacks of the same make, but as black as night. Next, a finely scaled cuirass, the unearthly starmetal glinting in the dim morning light. Then, pauldrons of the same metal, as well as half-plate greaves. Black, boiled leather gauntlets studded with siderite followed, and matching boots, tipped with toes of that mystic metal. Finally, a crimson cloak emblazoned with the crest of Cainhurst settled around her shoulders, pinned to her armor by two tiny medallions, inscribed with merkstave Corruption runes.

Her head she left ungirded, for vanity as much as comfort. Too long had she been imprisoned in that mask, and it wasn’t as if damage to her head was any more serious than damage to any other extremity. Such was the blessing of the Deep that Mother Kos had given unto the greatest of her blood.

Her now-gloved hands closed around the ornate hilt of a massive sword, easily her height from pommel to tip. Belting Adjudicator's sheath to her back, Annalise strode from her room to muster her forces, such as they were.

It was not yet time to overtly march to war against the pretender, but war was not the only means by which her foe—the foe of  _ all _ those living—could be combatted. Whatever it took, Cainhurst would rise to the challenge and stand beside mankind.

And she would stand at their head, for what is the worth of a Queen who expects her subjects to battle when she does not?

* * *

 

**AN: Well, this arrived** **_much_ ** **later than I’d have liked. I won’t make excuses. I’ll just try to do better for you all. As always, thanks to Teninshigen and Slavok for their betaing. I hope you all enjoy.**


	12. Chapter 10: Integration

Chapter 10: Integration

The journal’s writing is much more legible and elegant than the previous one’s.

_ Queen Annalise of the Cainhurst Vilebloods, she called herself. She offered me a helping hand in the time I most needed it; were it not for her, my fate would have been that of Gascoigne or Henryk.  _

_ I would never wish the burden of slaying her erstwhile student upon Eileen, nor did I wish to lose myself to the madness. I am truly indebted to my Queen, and I shall remain thus until the day I pass from this world. _

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol II

Circa 0 M.F.

(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

As the first lights of dawn peeked through the windows, the residents of the Rose/Xiao-Long household stirred. For Taiyang and Summer, it was a gentle waking, marked by twin yawns and two bodies holding one another close for the first time in a long while.

Ser Ozpin, Isolde, and Cadfan himself, on the other hand, transitioned from sleep to wakefulness in a single instant because of their own respective natures.

Qrow remained asleep, sprawled on his bed and snoring loud enough to raise the dead.

For Ruby and Yang, however...well, let’s just say that in a battle between a pair of frantic, Aura-trained sisters, desperate to find out if the night prior was just a dream, and a simple wooden door?

_ The door loses every time. _

Cadfan stiffened at the sound of splintering wood coming from a few rooms away, rising to his feet and reaching for his blade where it leaned against his bed, but paused upon hearing the joyful sobbing. A soft smile tugged at his lips. 

Even beyond his loyalty to his Queen’s line (and his debt to Lady Maria), a reunion such as this one was truly a wonderful thing. He was glad to have borne witness to it.

While Summer and Taiyang were occupied with their daughters, Cadfan took it upon himself to bathe. Oh, how he’d missed the sensation of sinking into a basin of warm water, and just letting the soothing liquid wash over him. He could feel the Vileblood coursing through his veins become quiescent, the Echoes of the Mother and the Orphan reminded of their lost homes in the deep. 

All too soon, however, he’d finished bathing and had to leave behind the solace of the false sea. A twist of his wrist conjured a pulse of Arcane mist which rid his clothes of any dirt or grime that it had accumulated. He could’ve done this for his body, of course, but a warm bath had its own charms.

After tossing his clothes on (minus mask, hat, and gauntlets) he left the guest room, Isolde trailing in his wake with a soft smile on her porcelain lips.

After knocking on Ser Ozpin’s door and receiving no reply, Hunter and Doll returned to the dining room.

Once more, the family was seated in the kitchen, Summer, now wearing a blindfold, a pair of loose pants and a baggy shirt, was flanked on either side by her daughters as Taiyang, wearing clothes very similar to the ones his wife was wearing, watched amusedly from the other side of the table. 

The Headmaster was over at the stove, intently focused on a large kettle that was just beginning to steam. Several teacups were set on a platter beside him, various leaves of different types in each of the cups. Cadfan noted that there were two extra cups (one, if you counted the still-absent Qrow), and each one had a distinct blend in it. 

Speaking of Qrow, the Hunter was nowhere to be found, but judging from the cloying scent of high-proof alcohol that had seeped from his room, he was probably sleeping off a hangover.

Offering the Rose/Xiao-Long family a nod and a “Good morning,” Cadfan took up a position beside the Headmaster, leaning against the countertop. When Isolde came forward and bowed demurely, Yang and Ruby goggled at her.

_ ‘Of course. They had already retired for the evening–well, morning really–by the time she arrived.’ _

He cleared his throat, then spoke. “Ah, my apologies for my oversight. This is my... _ sister _ would be the best description, I suppose, though our bond goes beyond mere blood.” He turned to Isolde, prompting, “Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

Isolde complied with that same soft smile on her face. “Of course, Good Hunter. My name is Isolde, and I am a Doll. It is delightful to meet you all.”

“But  _ how _ ?!” Yang burst out, arms gesticulating. She looked around at her family, demanding, “Seriously, I can’t be the  _ only  _ one freaked out by this, can I?! I mean, vampires are hard enough to believe–and even though you brought mom back, I still don’t know if I trust you, by the way–but a living  _ Doll _ ? What. The. He-” Yang cut herself off as Summer’s Aura became sickly sweet and heavy. She coughed into her fist nervously, then shook her head.

“You get what I’m saying, though! Right?” she asked, almost plaintively.

“Um, Yang?” Ruby spoke up hesitantly. “Th-they haven’t done anything wrong, so-”

“That we  _ know _ of,” Yang interrupted, a frown on her face. “I… It’s just so  _ crazy _ ! I don’t know what to think!”

“Trust me, Firecracker,” came a tired voice, “You wanna be a Huntress? You’re gonna have to get used to it.” Following his interjection, Qrow shambled into the room, clad in a pair of tight pants of an unknown material and a thin shirt. He kneaded his forehead with the heel of his hand as he looked around the room blearily.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Qrow. Here,” Ser Ozpin addressed the hungover Hunter and, without looking at him, passed him a freshly poured and steaming cup of tea. From that steam, Cadfan caught an  _ extremely _ strong herbal scent that seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Without pause, Qrow tossed back the boiling tea, barely flinching at the scalding that he no doubt received. Cadfan could feel it as the Hunter’s soul flared and went to work on the parts of his mouth and throat that were burned.

Across the room, Taiyang winced at the sight even as Summer brought a palm to her face.

“ _ Phew!  _ That’s the ticket.” After a few moments, Qrow let out a relieved exhale, visibly brightening. “That special tea of yours always hits the spot, Oz.”

The Headmaster, pouring another cup, this one a giving off the pleasant and familiar scent of jasmine, replied, “I should certainly hope so. That particular herb is rare indeed, not to mention highly prized by tea connoisseurs and herbalists alike.”

He gave a slight smile. “But enough about my hobbies for the moment. Miss Xiao-Long.”

Yang stood up straighter, looking at Ser Ozpin expectantly. She blinked as a teacup was pressed into her hands.

“I find that difficult topics such as these are best discussed over a nice cup of tea.” Yang stared at the Headmaster as though he’d spontaneously grown a second head and that head had began to sing opera.

“Yang,” Summer addressed her daughter kindly but firmly. “Just take the tea and sit down. Then we can talk about this like adults.”

The blindfolded Huntress beckoned Yang back to her seat, then tilted her face towards Cadfan. “I’d offer you a chair,” she said cheerfully, “but we seem to be a few short.” 

“Please, don’t let it worry you, Lady Ro–“ 

“Summer.” She interrupted, that same cheerful tone in her voice. “Since apparently we’re family, even if it’s in a really weird way, you’re gonna call me Summer, m’kay?”

Cadfan blinked, then nodded very carefully. “As you say...Summer.”

Even as he replied, Ser Ozpin began passing out the other cups of tea. He paused a moment in front of Isolde, a question in his eyes. The Headmaster’s unspoken curiosity was answered promptly as she took the proffered cup and blew on it with a faint smile.

As Ser Ozpin handed him the second-to-last cup, keeping the one that smelled of jasmine for himself, he spoke. “For that matter, there’s no need to call me ‘Ser’, Mr. Lloyd. Ozpin will do just fine.”

Taking the tea with an inclination of his head, Cadfan replied gravely, “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Ser Ozpin. I owe you my freedom. My ultimate loyalty may be to my Queen, but your actions were just as valuable to me as when her Highness granted unto me the Vileblood all those millennia ago.”

At this, Yang broke in, “Hang on.  _ Millennia? _ As in  _ multiple thousands _ of years?!”

“Indeed, Miss Xiao-Long,” Cadfan replied. “My Queen estimates that I was sealed away deep underground for ten thousand years. When I last walked Remnant, though it was not called that then, the moon was still whole.”

Yang goggled at him, her jaw hanging open. In the ensuing silence, Ruby asked, her voice full of wonder, “What was the world like?”

Cadfan’s face fell. “I am afraid I do not know much on that topic. Much of my life was spent cooped up in a tower, books and parchment my only companions. You see, I contracted a wasting sickness at a very young age, and being a scholar was something even  _ I  _ could do.” 

He looked up, a wistful smile on his face. “Those were the pleasant times. The scholarship, I mean, not the sickness. After that...I would prefer to refrain from discussing what happened next in my life. It was not a pleasant time, though it forged me into the Hunter you see before you today.”

He cleared his throat, then took a sip of his tea. It was a pleasant green. “Anyway, to return to the concerns you raised before this tangent, you are perfect within your rights to feel the way you do. I am an unfamiliar stranger who bears an unfortunate similarity to a monster of fiction. I do not begrudge you that.”

Unfortunately, his words had the opposite effect intended. Yang planted her palms on the table and pushed herself to her feet, frowning at Cadfan with lilac eyes that seemed to dance with embers. 

“And that’s another thing! Why are you so damn polite?!” Yang bit out. “ _ Nobody’s _ that nice, not even Ruby!”

A shadow crossed Cadfan’s face as he bowed his head. “Why am I so polite, you ask?” His head slowly rose, eyes like chips of ice seeming to peer through her own, directly into her soul. “Because I have seen  _ far _ too much conflict and hate in my life, Miss Xiao-Long, and frankly I am  _ exhausted _ .” His voice was hoarse and thick with emotions long-suppressed. 

Taking a moment to master himself, he sipped his tea while staring at the floor. After about a minute of awkward silence, Yang made to speak, but he raised a hand.

“I am as polite as I am, Miss Xiao-Long, to minimize the likelihood of causing other people offense and thereby breeding conflict.”

Yang exhaled, then muttered sullenly into her tea, “‘m sorry.”

Cadfan shook his head. “Already forgotten.”

After a few more long moments of silence, Qrow took an especially loud sip of his second cup of tea (this one far less pungent) and set the teacup down with a clatter.

“So, Oz! Weren’t we gonna go into Vale to get Nibbles here some cash?” Qrow asked flippantly.

Cadfan choked on his tea.

-x-x-x-x-x-

After Ozpin and Qrow departed, Cadfan and Isolde in tow, Summer turned her head to Yang. She knew that she’d been gone a long time, and that ten years was  _ plenty _ of time for the sweet, feisty little firecracker she’d known to grow into a angry, suspicious young woman, but…

Whether it was because of the sensory facet of her Semblance or simple “motherly intuition,” she did not know, but what she  _ did _ know was that something was bothering her daughter, and she  _ was  _ going to get to the bottom of it!

She placed her hand on her elder daughter’s shoulder gripping gently but firmly. “Yang. Let’s talk.” She felt Yang tense under her hand, but noticed Yang nod hesitantly with her Semblance.

She then gestured to Tai, indicating that he should keep Ruby occupied.

“Hey, Ruby! Let’s go make some cookies, huh?” Taiyang suggested boisterously. Ruby’s eyes began to gleam with unholy gluttony as she practically teleported over to the stove.

Meanwhile, Summer released Yang’s shoulder, stood, then beckoned to her. She took her elder daughter to the bedroom that Yang shared with Ruby. Summer sat on Yang’s bed, then patted the plush covers next to her. “Come, sit.”

Yang did as she was bidden, the slump of her shoulders and the bowing of her head clear signs that  _ something  _ was amiss.

Summer swung her feet back and forth aimlessly, then spoke. “I know I haven’t been here for you, and it’s gonna be awkward and weird for you to have me back. But I hope you’ll let me be here for you, Yang.” She turned her head towards her daughter. “What’s bothering you?”

Yang let out a derisive snort. “What  _ isn’t _ ?” she muttered bitterly, before pulling her feet up onto the bed and resting her chin on her knees.

Summer waited for her to continue speaking, then said gently, “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me the problem. Please, Yang. You’re my precious daughter; I can’t stand seeing you hurting like this.” The blinded Huntress wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and pulled her closer. _ “Let me help you.” _

Yang let out a shuddering breath, then burst out, “It’s just too much!” More quietly, she repeated herself. “ _It’s_ _just_ _too_ much.”

She clenched her fist at her sides as she continued, “Too many huge things happened too fast, and I don’t know what to do! First you come back, and that’s, like, a miracle. But suddenly you’re a vampire princess or something, and some immortal guy cuts his head off at our dinner table. 

“Then  _ she  _ showed up, fought some Grimm with you and Dad, and then left. Do you know how many times she came to visit since you left?  _ Once. _ One time, last night, to see  _ you.  _ Then she left  _ again _ , without saying a  _ word _ to me!”

Yang slumped over, and repeated herself in a shaky voice.  _ “It’s just. Too. Much.” _

Summer pulled her daughter closer. “You’re feeling overwhelmed. That’s normal. This situation is  _ crazy _ ; nobody in their right mind would be unaffected.” Summer pressed a kiss to the crown of Yang’s head. “But it’s gonna be alright. I’m here.”

Yang looked up, eyes glistening. “Are you?”

Summer flinched. “What do you mean?”

The blonde grabbed her mother’s hand like it was a lifeline. “I mean, are you really staying? For you, you’ve just been off on a mission, but for us, you’ve been  _ dead _ ! We  _ buried _ you! We visit your grave every year! If it weren’t for pictures and stories, I don’t think Ruby would even know who you are! How do I know you won’t charge off to die  _ again _ as soon as another monster shows up?”

Summer felt something twist within her. _I_ … _have a grave?_ Well, she’d need to deal with that on her own time. Right now, her little girl needed her. She gripped Yang’s hand. “I promise you, Yang, that the only way I’m leaving my family again is kicking and screaming. If Oz or that Queen want me to do something for them, they’d better hope it’s something I can do while living with my family.”

Yang shuddered, then whispered, “Thank you...Mom.”

After a few minutes of morose silence, the scent of chocolate chip cookies wafted into the room from the kitchen. Immediately, Summer’s mouth began to produce enough drool to simulate a waterfall. It felt like it’d been forever since she’d had a nice, warm, gooey cookie, and the fact that all Queen Annalise has been able to feed her was a suspiciously sweet blood pudding didn’t help her cravings any.

“Let’s get some cookies. Sweets will make us  _ both  _ feel better.”

Yang snorted. “Same as ever, huh? Not sure even double chocolate chunk could kick this mood.”

Summer smiled. Raven didn’t think that cookies could solve her problems either when they first met. Actually, Summer realized that her little girl was about as old as Rae was when they had first met. “You know, Rae used to go through dark moods too when she was younger. And what was weird was that cookies sometimes  _ didn’t _ help. But do you know what did help her feel better,  _ every single time _ ?”

Yang frowned. “What?”

She grinned. It was nothing like her usual smiles, and if one were to describe it, one would likely use a phrase like ‘menacingly kind.’ It was terrifying.

“Come outside, Yang. I’ll show you.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

“...and so I said, ‘maybe if you took that stick outta your ass, you’d have a chance of havin’ something more  _ pleasant _ stuck in’!  _ Boy _ , was Ice Queen pissed!” Qrow let out a noise that was something between a snort and a cackle, then took a long draught from his ever-present hip flask as he strolled down the street.

Ser Ozpin, who was beside the perpetual drunk, looked over his shoulder to Cadfan with eyes that reminded him of a rotting fish’s: expressionless and dead to the world. Apparently even the old Wizard could get fed up with Qrow’s antics given enough time.

“You certainly have quite the... _ eccentric  _ sense of humor, Qrow,” Cadfan observed dryly, walking behind the Headmaster and his Hunter alongside a faintly blushing Isolde. They’d found some gloves to cover her ceramic joints, and with some skillful application of makeup by Ozpin, her face simply looked pale, rather than being obviously ceramic.

(When they’d asked Ozpin about his skill with makeup, he’d simply laughed and brushed it off, saying, “A product of a misspent youth.”)

“First ‘Nibbles’,” Cadfan continued, “and now this? I can say with a fair amount of confidence that I have never met somebody quite like you.”

Qrow let out another laugh. “‘Course you haven’t! There ain’t anybody like me but me!”

Ser Ozpin pinched his brow, then rapped his cane sharply on the ground . “As... _dubiously_ _entertaining_ as this all is, our travel time would be better spent giving Mr. Lloyd and Miss Isolde information about our fair city, rather than regailing them with extensive accounts of your numerous encounters with James’ star pupil.”

Qrow blew air out between his lips, making a dismissive  _ pbttth _ sound. “Oh,  _ fine _ . You’re the boss, Oz.” A mischievous grin crossed his face. “I’ll show him where the bars and strip joints ar- _ guh!” _ Qrow doubled over suddenly, and at seemingly no provocation. Judging by the minuscule upward tilt to Ser Ozpin’s mouth, the Headmaster had something to do with the abrupt absence of air from the drunk’s lungs.

Isolde canted her head to one side, and asked curiously, “Pray tell, Sir Qrow; what is a ‘strip joint’?”

Qrow, having just straightened, bent double once more, this time of his own volition. He let out an ugly laugh, then took a moment to catch his breath. “A strip joint– _ hee _ –is a place where people take their clothes off for cash.”

A look of understanding dawned on Isolde’s face. “Oh, I understand. It is a variation on the type of business known as a ‘brothel’. Ah, human creativity is so  _ fascinating _ .”

Cadfan looked over at Isolde with a befuddled expression on his face even as Ser Ozpin massaged his forehead.

Qrow, on the other hand, looked to be laughing so hard he was having a seizure. It took him almost a minute to recover, during which their group was shot several concerned looks by passing strangers.

Finally, the pickled Hunter managed to pull himself together… well, as together as somebody who drank alcohol strong enough to qualify as a chemical weapon could be, anyway.

“Gods, you’re something else,” Qrow wheezed. “You’re alright by me, Izzy.” 

Isolde looked over at Qrow, and Cadfan, and back again to Qrow. “‘Izzy’? What is an Izzy?”

Before he could reply, Ser Ozpin cut in. “I  _ do _ hate to rain on this parade, but we  _ really _ ought to continue on our way. I have meetings to arrange, syllabi to review, and applications to approve or deny, as appropriate.” He looked over at Qrow. “And I’m sure  _ you’d _ like to get back to Patch so you can spend some more time with your team leader.”

Qrow’s expression sobered, even if he himself did not. “...Yeah, yeah I would,” he admitted softly. “Let’s get going.”

The party of four continued on their way, Ozpin pointing out places of note, Cadfan and Isolde asking questions as needed. By the time they arrived at the Vale City Bank, the Good Hunter had made note of a few places he was interested in visiting at a later date. Of particular interest to him was the city library, a book store, and a shop claiming to specialize in Dust-based weaponry.

They were seen promptly, though Cadfan suspected that the presence of the Headmaster of Beacon Academy in their party might have had something to do with that. The process was quick and simple; within the hour they departed, the Good Hunter now in possession of a savings account.

Next, Ozpin split from them to visit the bounty office, passing a few cards of Lien to Cadfan and instructing him to purchase some casual clothes for both himself and Isolde. The Headmaster then gave Qrow a Look, and left without a word.

Qrow led them to a small shop with large, garish letters on its sign. The exterior and what he could see of the interior interior were largely painted black, an oddity in a city otherwise full of color and light. Considering the shop looked more like the sort of place you’d take someone to murder them than to shop for apparel, Cadfan shot the other man a dubious look, before following him in.

Behind a black counter sat a pale, bald man, numerous pieces of metal sticking out of various parts of his face. Oddly, the man didn’t seem to be in any pain by this, so Cadfan chalked it up to being some kind of bizarre ritual.

Qrow nodded to the man behind the counter, who seemed to recognize him, then showed Cadfan and Isolde to the part of the store that stocked clothes.

Much like the store, most of the apparel was black, dark grey, and  _ very  _ dark grey. Thus, their choices were quite limited. Hunter and Doll picked several outfits that they felt suited them, and brought them to the counter.

Cadfan paid the shopkeeper, and they left, proceeding back to where they’d split from Ser Ozpin. He Headmaster was waiting patiently for them, and addressed Cadfan when they approached. “Mr. Lloyd, most of your bounty has been deposited in your account, but I took the liberty of keeping some of it out and getting you a wallet for storage.”

Ser Ozpin passed over a small piece of folded, stitched leather. When Cadfan flipped it open, he saw several cards of a similar type to the ones he’d paid the shopkeeper with.

“Before you say anything,” the Headmaster continued, “I will not accept any form of reimbursement from you. Think of those clothes as a  _ gift _ . That much Lien is a drop in the ocean compared to the resources I have available.”

 

Cadfan, having opened his mouth to offer just that, snapped it shut ruefully. “I suppose we should return to Patch, then.”

“Yyyep,” Qrow drawled with a yawn. “It’s about bed O’ clock.”

Ser Ozpin deadpanned at his subordinate. “It is 10:30 in the  _ morning _ .”

“Yeah, and I flew here from Vacuo in less than an hour, at  _ midnight _ , with enough booze in me to knock out an average  _ horse _ ,” Qrow countered.

The Headmaster blinked, then nodded. “A fair point. Let us return, then.”

-x-x-x-

When they returned to the Rose/Xiao-Long household, they came upon the sight of Summer sparring with both Yang and Ruby at once. Yang was using those golden gauntlets, occasionally firing rounds that would be efficiently dodged or deflected by the edge of the saber-like Rakuyō, while Ruby?

The petite girl was wielding a scythe larger than her, and from the looks of it, was a talent at it that would’ve made even Gehrman raise a brow in mild interest.

Then, she fired the gun at the end and Cadfan’s mind exploded.

_ ‘A gun-scythe? That’s...brilliant! There’s plenty of space between the haft and the head to add parts, and just like she is doing, the recoil of some heavier bullets could be used to increase the speed of strikes and make them harder to predict! I  _ must _ meet whoever made that weapon!’ _

…

One thing both Gehrman and Djura had instilled in him was a respect for fine weaponcraft, and Ruby’s scythe was one they’d  _ both _ appreciate.

As he walked over to ask Ruby about her weapon, he abruptly froze, his Arcane senses going haywire.

A familiar crimson sigil faded into being across the clearing from him, before splitting down the center, bending part of spacetime outwards as it did.

The woman who strode through the portal was unmistakably his Queen, but she was dressed in armor the likes of which he’d never seen. As he dropped to one knee, his blood writhing giddily in anticipation even as he felt a sinking feeling in his gut. If his Queen had girded herself for battle...well.

Then he would follow her to war.

* * *

 

**AN: Wonder of wonders, I managed to get this done on time for a change. Many thanks  as always to Slavok for betaing this and making incredibly helpful suggestions. I hope you all enjoy!**


	13. Chapter 11: Hospitality

Chapter 11: Hospitality

_ After I was instructed upon the decorum and behavior that was expected of me as one of Her Majesty’s subjects, she bade me return to the wider world and gather for her Blood Dregs, that she might offer herself as a surrogate for the being she called Mother Kos.  _

_ I did not know what would come of this, nor did I know if it was a wise course of action, but...I owed Her Majesty a debt beyond measure. If this was the path that she felt to be the correct one, I would obey. And if her decision put her in danger, then I would save her from even herself. For I was, I  _ am _ , her knight. _

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol II

Circa 0 M.F.

(10,000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

As all present turned to regard Annalise, eyes and mouths agape, Cadfan addressed her. “My Queen. What brings you here, girded for battle? Is there some threat waiting in the shadows, preparing to spring upon this unsuspecting family?”

“No, Our dear Knight,” the Vileblood Queen denied as spacetime snapped back into its proper alignment behind her. “We simply wished to visit Our descendant and her family, as well as speak with this Ozpin about the wretched state of Cainhurst. As to why We have armed Ourselves for battle…” Annalise raised a studded gauntlet to her face and clenched her fist. “It has been millenia since We have wielded Adjudicator; once Our business with Our descendants and with Ozpin has concluded, We will have you face us in combat, that We might rectify this lack.”

“As you will it, so it shall be, my Queen,” replied Cadfan, rising smoothly from where he had knelt, then turning smartly on his heel to face the others. By this time, Taiyang had joined them in the yard to see what all the fuss was about, but as he was about to introduce his liege, he heard a slight inhalation from her. For someone such as his Queen, whose mastery over her emotions was near absolute, Annalise might as well have shrieked in surprise.

The source of the Vileblood Queen’s surprise was quickly made evident as she strode over the grass to stand before Isolde, raising one quivering hand to the ceramic woman’s cheek, but pausing before she made contact.

Annalise let her arm drop to her side and exhaled. “You are the one Our Knight gave the name Isolde to, are you not? The simulacrum of Our granddaughter born from the dreams and mournful longings of the First Hunter?”

Isolde nodded demurely, before replying, “And you are Annalise, Vileblood Queen of Forsaken Cainhurst.” She bowed deeply at the waist. “I thank you for saving Cadfan.”

Annalise’s lips twitched into what could’ve been considered a smile, were it examined with a high-powered microscope. “It was within Our power to do so, and We gained a loyal and honorable Knight in the process. Think nothing of it, dear child.” With a decisive nod, she turned from Isolde to face the part of the yard currently dedicated to training, and walked over to the four people currently standing there, staring at her. 

Annalise’s eyes lingered on Summer briefly, before she gave a nod of satisfaction and peered at Ruby. “Your eyes have yet to truly blossom,” she murmured, before regarding Yang and Taiyang in turn. “Neither of you are of Our blood, but your own veins run strong and bright with flame.” She looked back to Summer. “You chose well, dear descendant.” Summer’s cheeks flushed slightly, even as Taiyang gave an awkward chuckle.

“So, you’re mom’s vampire grandma, huh?” Yang asked, the blonde wiping the sweat from the spar off of her brow as she regarded Annalise.

The Vileblood Queen, for her part, arched a thin eyebrow. “Vampire...grandma?” She repeated incredulously. “We... _ suppose _ that such a descriptor holds a few grains of truth, but it would hardly be proper for Us to go by an ignoble, inaccurate, and ignorant title of that sort.” Annalise cupped her chin in thought. “That said, you owe no particular allegiance to Us, so it would be ill done to demand you call Us your queen. We shall accept being addressed by Our given name: Annalise.”

The Queen of Cainhurst inclined her head regally, first to Yang and then to each of the other three members of the Rose/Xiao-Long family. Ruby nodded back while fidgeting with her skirt, Summer laying a supportive hand on her shoulder. Meanwhile, Taiyang offered a slight bow and a smile, and Yang nodded to herself, before approaching Annalise and sticking her hand out.

The queen stared at the proffered hand with befuddlement, as though Yang were attempting to hand her a large live trout rather than offering a handshake. She took the blonde’s hand gingerly and gave it a squeeze before releasing it. “I’m Yang Xiao-Long, and that’s how we greet people in Vale,” Yang said cheekily. 

Annalise blinked ponderously, then gave a prim nod. “We shall be certain to remember this custom, Yang Xiao-Long. You have our gratitude for teaching Us this vital skill.”

The golden arches of Yang’s eyebrows rose. “You’re not serious, are you?” Annalise simply stared back at her blandly. “Oh god, you are.”

The queen maintained her flat expression for a few moments more, then allowed one side of her mouth to curl into a smug smile. “Please, dear Yang. We will admit to being more than a bit sheltered, but the handshake is older than  _ We _ are.” Annalise threw one arm out to the side, causing her cloak to billow majestically even as her playful smile widened. “It seems We have much to teach you about the art of humor.”

“H-humor?” Yang sputtered. “There wasn’t any humor in that! You just made it seem like you didn’t know what I was doing, and then were all like ‘Surprise, I actually do’!” At this point, Yang was building into a rant. “Where’s the wordplay? Where’re the  _ puns _ ? You could’ve said ‘Will you give me a  _ hand _ learning’ or ‘You’re going out on a  _ limb _ there’, but this? This isn’t humor at all!”

Ruby let out an embarrassed groan and buried her face in her hands.

By this time, Annalise’s eyebrows had risen so high that her bangs obscured them completely. Seemingly speaking to the air itself, she lamented, “Verily, the state of humor in this era is far worse than We could have ever feared.” Her eyes landed on Taiyang and pinned him in place. “Have you truly been teaching your daughter  _ puns _ , the leper of comedy, all the while forgoing such a classic as the ‘bait and switch?’”

Taiyang chuckled. “Oh, don’t look at me all  _ funny _ like that; Yang has a  _ pun _ derful sense of humor, just like her father!”

Yang grinned at him, but Summer turned towards Taiyang with a dead expression on her face. “Tai.”

He froze. “Y-yes, sugarlips?” the burly blond replied, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face.

“The  _ only _ reason you’re not bunking with Zwei for that abomination that you call a joke is because we have  _ a lot _ of catching up to do.” Despite her lack of eyes, Summer’s Look of Disappointment retained every bit of its potency.

Ruby groaned again, face still in her hands, while Yang turned a bit green at the implications.

Annalise smiled more widely. “Well, We can rest more easily now that We know you have him well in hand, dear descendant. For now, We must take our leave; politics demands Our attention.”  Her smile became gentler. “Fear not, however, We shall return post-haste, and talk of many things.”

In the meantime, Cadfan had walked over to where Isolde stood beside Ozpin and Qrow. The four came to a silent consensus to leave them be until Annalise’s business was concluded.

As she walked back over to them, Annalise donned the face of the Vileblood Queen once more, it having slipped somewhat as the immortal had conversed with the nearest thing to family that she had outside of Cadfan. She faced the wizened headmaster and spoke. “Ozpin. We have business with you and yours. We realize that ‘tis uncouth to demand audience with those of great influence on such short notice, but Our situation demands it. We hope you shall forgive this presumption.”

Ozpin’s fingers tapped the head of his cane thoughtfully. “I think a conference with the other three academy heads can be arranged, though Leonardo will likely be irritated to be called at such an hour; it’ll be near midnight in Mistral by the time we get back to Beacon.” Ozpin shook his head. “No matter. Your business is doubtlessly urgent, and I’m certain that Gayle will be interested in conversing with you, at the least.”

“Though I don’t look forward to the headache all of James’ inevitable shouting will cause,” the Headmaster grumbled to himself as he beckoned to Qrow. “Go tell Glynda to set up the call, would you?”

Qrow rolled his eyes, then snapped a sarcastic salute and crouched. Then, his form seemed to blur and melt, shrinking in on itself until a single blackbird stood where there once was a man. With a scornful  _ wark _ , the Huntsman-turned-corvid snapped its wings open and took flight, moving a good deal more quickly than any ordinary bird could manage.

“Now, Queen Annalise,” the Headmaster said, “I suppose I should tell you about a vehicle called a Bullhead…”   
  


**AN: It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I am truly sorry about how long it has been since I updated this and my other story, but...well. Let’s just say that depression and being motivated don’t often mix, and when that murky bleakness continues to self-reinforce the longer I go without updates, it becomes all the harder. I can only try to do better in the future, and hope that my depression comes knocking far less frequently and for far less long than it has in the past months.**

**Furthermore, I feel as though I should apologise for the shortness of this chapter. It was going to be longer, but with how long I wrestled with just this much, I knew that it would take even longer for me to get it to you if I made it contain everything I wanted it to. So, I chose to release this at this length, rather than making you all wait even longer. As always, I extend my most heartfelt thanks to Slavok and Teninshigen for their advice, assistance, and criticisms, and I hope you all enjoy.**


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